Objects in Mirror
by Qihotex
Summary: Cheerleaders, Slayers, and Witches. Oh My! Buffy's in Lima, Ohio. She's not alone. And it's not for the weather. And someone thinks she needs minions.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **This is a derivative (aka transformative) work. All BtVS characters belong to or were created by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the suits at Fox. Not sure who owns Glee - Ryan Murphy created it and Fox broadcasts it.  
**Summary:** Buffy's in Lima, Ohio, and it's not for the weather. (Takes place in an alternate Glee Season 2)  
**Spoilers:** All 144 episodes of BtVS (Not comic book Season's 8 or 9 compliant). Glee - Season 1 but AU after that. Might borrow some backstory from Season 2 but let's forget Season 3 exists. Okay?  
**Author's Note:** Most fan fiction set in the Glee universe depicts Lima, Ohio as a small town. It's not. At 40K residents it's very close in size to Sunnydale. Just the right size for a Buffy to manage. On a normal day, more than 1 slayer could be considered overkill. This fic assumes Glee takes place in a Lima very close in nature/size to the real one.  
**Pairings:** None Yet. But there will be, of the femslash variety. Eventually. And, in passing (not main pairing), maybe slash (though I don't normally write that) and het.

**Word Count:** 2,126

* * *

She stared at the open locker containing everything she owned, thrown into boxes and shoved into the cramped space. Her entire history since Sunnydale sitting there, mocking her. Clothes she'd bought just because they brought a twinkle to Willow's eye. Her favorite book of poems, read to Willow on planes, buses, beaches, and under many trees as they traveled. Years of memories. Small and large.

Ignoring the curious glances of passing slayers, she tried to not look like her world had just imploded. She'd never used it before, never needed to, but every slayer had a locker like that, a place they could store personal possessions they didn't need every day or things they wanted to store while on a long mission. Lockers that were always just the right size. Lockers that could withstand a nuclear blast. Or possibly a breaking heart.

It wasn't a large box, she thought, her fingers rubbing against it through the thin leather of her favorite pants, the ones Willow liked so much. She wasn't sure how such a simple thing could cause so much trouble, as it burned a hole in her pocket. How something she'd agonized over for months could hurt so much.

Just hours ago it'd been in a different pocket, waiting for the right moment to be used. Maybe she'd picked the wrong moment? But she couldn't go back. Not yet.

Drawing a ragged breath, she pulled it out and gently, very gently, like a bomb with a hair trigger, set it down inside the locker. Stepping back she closed the door and pressed her thumb against the lock before keying in her combination. Sealing it until she returned. If she returned.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she concentrated, going through an exercise she'd learned years ago from her watcher, locking away her feelings until she could deal with them. Alone. Now.

Turning around she started walking. Out of the locker room. No real direction in mind other than away. Away from Cleveland. Away from the spiteful vultures just waiting for her downfall. Away from her one truth that apparently wasn't as truthful as she'd imagined.

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She came from a proud family. A family with deep roots. Roots most of her fellow slayers couldn't even begin to understand. Her place in the world had been assured since her birth. A place where pride and honor were everything. Where rebellion was only tolerated in small doses and where she'd had to fight to be herself. To be different. But still proud. And sure of herself.

She'd finally been ready to leave that all behind. Ready to take that last step and prove how committed she was. To show her love. To start her own family.

Only to be rejected. Something she hadn't planned on. Looking out across the grounds, she wondered if it showed. If the shock was obvious. And to wonder if anyone else could see the stake through her heart. And if they would celebrate her absence. If they even noticed. The short note she'd left on Giles desk didn't say much, other than she needed a break and would be back, eventually.

Stepping through the gate, nodding to the girls on watch, she stopped and reached out with that inner sense, that part of herself that made her special. It had no name, though some of the others called it their inner slayer. She knew better. Reaching out, she let it guide her feet forward.

* * *

Walking, one foot in front of the other, along back roads and empty fields, she lost track of the hours. Possibly days. She could keep up the pace for a long time if she had to. She'd done it before. Focusing on the soft tapping of her feet against the ground to keep her thoughts at bay. She wasn't sure where she was going but she didn't slow down until she couldn't feel the Hellmouth any more. And still she walked. Drifting silently through small towns and cities where nothing looked familiar beyond the sameness of all towns in Ohio.

* * *

The sign said 'Welcome to Lima, Ohio'. Standing on the side of the road, braced against the turbulence of passing trucks, she stared at the sign.

She'd heard the name before, sometime in the past. Before Sunnydale was burned into her memory, before Willow, but she couldn't remember when or why. And there was something else about Lima, some personal reason to avoid it but she couldn't remember what it was. It was as good enough of a place to stop as any. No one would know her. A motel room, a shower, and then something to drink. And maybe food, something edible.

* * *

She was going to have to get some clothes, she thought, closing her motel room door behind her and stepping out into the bright afternoon sun. A shower had removed several layers of grit from her skin and made her feel slightly better, but her clothes looked like she'd been dragged through a sand dune or two.

But not yet. The shock was starting to wear off. She felt the need for something numbing.

The first bar she entered was the kind of dive that only cared about the money and didn't question her presence on a warm afternoon. She stayed for a couple hours, watching people, mostly suspicious men, drifting in and out. Leaving two empty bottles of Jack behind, barely feeling buzzed, she joined the rush hour masses headed further into the small city.

The demon bar reminded her of one of the pubs her cousins had dragged her to the last time she visited her great-grandmother, before Sunnydale. The bartender had recognized her as a slayer, making sure that she saw the Council sygil above the mirror that marked it as neutral territory, but she'd already sensed the lingering presence of a slayer when she'd stepped inside, though the Jack had dulled her enough so she couldn't tell who it was.

They left her alone while she steadily consumed unlabeled bottles of something strong, one after another. She could tell she was making them nervous, but none of the patrons seemed to be afraid of her. She wondered whose territory she'd wandered into, where the local demons didn't fear a wandering slayer, but only for a moment. No one in the bar would stop her from drinking.

* * *

She pulled herself out of the cab, using the door to hold herself up. The bartender had called her a cab at closing time, giving the driver an address with no explanation. She was too drunk to care. She could walk to her motel.

She hadn't felt this detached since her mother died and she went to live with her father. Turning around she threw a couple twenties into the cab, not caring if it was the right amount. She hadn't touched her trust fund since her watcher died but she had plenty of money to last a while. The old Council might not have been as rich as everyone imagined but Buffy had insisted that all slayers get paid a generous amount. Living with Willow, she hadn't needed to spend much of it.

Standing on the sidewalk, she stared at the small house. A slayer lived there. The air practically vibrated with the fact. Probably the same one who protected that bar. She hoped it wasn't someone who hated her. Or who knew her. She'd made a lot of people angry after Sunnydale just doing her job.

The screen door opened silently at her pull. Stepping onto the porch she saw a deck chair in a corner, piled high with soft looking cushions. Stumbling over to it, she collapsed onto the pile.

"I'll just wait here," she mumbled to herself. "Introduce myself and go back to my room." Closing her eyes, she let go, not fighting sleep as everything went dark.

* * *

Buffy walked confidently down the sidewalk, whistling to herself. It'd been a quiet patrol, like most had been for the past month. Although it was slightly larger than Sunnydale, Lima was too far from the nearest Hellmouth in Cleveland to have much to attract more than the occasional stray vampire. Since she'd moved in, she'd run across three. None of which remotely resembled a challenge when she'd staked them.

The Lima demon population was also small, just barely large enough to support a demon bar, mostly made up of neutral demons who could pass as human. She'd introduced herself at the bar and made it clear that Lima was now her territory but that had mostly been a formality unless they approached her.

Lima was the perfect place to semi-retire to. Far enough from Cleveland to be free of the day-to-day annoyances of the Council and close enough to go back in case of an apocalypse. And a college that had been willing to admit her into their Counseling program with her unusual transcripts.

At least that's what she told anyone who asked. If they even asked. Most of the Council had been told she was taking a well deserved break away from the Hellmouth at some undisclosed location to finish college. Xander, Willow, and Dawn knew where she was, but she'd asked them to not tell anyone else unless it was an emergency.

There was another reason for her presence in Lima. A reason known only to Giles. But that was almost two years away. Two years to prepare for it while staying under the supernatural radar. And she'd promised to find the missing Council agent originally assigned to the task by the old Council, though without a name or description it was going to be a virtually impossible task. She still couldn't believe that the only copy of Old Council records of deep cover agents had been lost when minions of the First destroyed the London office.

* * *

She was a block from home when she picked up an odd sound. It got louder the closer she got to her cozy Sears Collingwood. Standing on the sidewalk in front of her house, the noise seemed to be coming from her porch. It wasn't something demony. In fact, it sort of sounded like someone snoring. Not quite of Xander quality, more like Faith when she'd caught that cold on their last wendigo hunt up in Alberta. But loud enough for her sensitive ears to pick up.

Cautiously approaching the porch, Buffy looked through the screen door. There was definitely a person shaped lump on her favorite porch chair. And, if the smells the breeze was now blowing her way were any indication, a very drunk lump.

Opening the screen door, Buffy prepared to eject the drunk from her home. Holding her nose against the overpowering smell of alcohol, she crossed the small porch. Looking down at the lump, obviously female, up close, she could now feel that slight tingle along her nerves that signaled the presence of one of the new slayers. With her favorite pillow over her face. Buffy cringed. It was going to have to be washed to get the slayer slobber off.

"Great," she muttered to herself. Random, drunk slayers appearing on her doorstep, with their annoying hero worship and high expectations. Something she'd hoped to leave behind in Cleveland by not telling them where she was going. Her nearest neighbors, whom she had yet to meet - a nice gay couple and their teenage daughter according to her realtor, certainly weren't going to be impressed. Once they returned from wherever they'd gone for the summer.

Reach forward, she snatched away the pillow. The slayer didn't move. "Even better," she grumbled. "Not a case of wandering hero worship," she said, looking down at a slightly grungy looking Kennedy.

Sighing, she decided to do the responsible thing, though packing up and moving to a hotel until Kennedy realized she wasn't home and left on her own was very tempting. Pulling out her phone, Buffy tapped 1 on her speed dial.

"Hey Willow!" Buffy said, after Willow's voice mail prompt had stopped. "Did you forget to tell me something? Or lose something? Care to tell me why your drunk girlfriend is passed out on my porch?"

Stuffing her phone back in a pocket, Buffy grimaced. Reaching down she tried to shake Kennedy awake. She stopped snoring but didn't move. She tried to wake her up again with the same results.

She really couldn't leave her there. Who knew how long it would be before Kennedy woke up. She didn't want to scare her paperboy. He'd finally stopped throwing her paper into the bushes. Or the mailman. On the other hand, she thought, smirking to herself, maybe Kennedy would scare away that pool boy she'd been warned about.


	2. Of Coaches, and Tweed

**Author's note:** Don't expect regular updates. I have a few chapters in the can to post over the next few weeks but after that it'll be several weeks or more between newchapters. The next few chapters will be spaced closely together in-story and then things will start to space out.  
**Word Count:** 2,695

* * *

Rolling over, Kennedy groaned inside her blanket cocoon. Her head felt like she'd gone ten rounds with a Polgara demon in a sandstorm. Opening her eyes, she found herself looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling in a dimly lit room. Cautiously turning her head, she could see that she was alone, in someone's bed. Struggling out of the blankets, she sat up and checked the other side of the bed. It appeared she'd slept alone. Breathing a sigh of relief, she pushed aside the blankets and swung her feet to the floor. It was at this point she realized she was dressed in someone's nightshirt and nothing else.

"Shit," she muttered, looking around for her clothes, wondering who'd undressed her. On a small writing desk, in a corner next to the window, she could see a pile of things that must have come out of her pockets. But no sign of her clothes. She started to stand up, but the pain in her head overwhelmed her and she flopped back down.

On the bedside table was a glass of water and a bottle of pills. Reaching over to pick up the familiar looking bottle, she recognized the label. Definitely a slayer's house. It was something Willow had come up with to cure hangovers. But the aftertaste killed your taste buds for hours. Willow claimed it wasn't intentional but not a single slayer believed her. She'd rather have the hangover, she decided.

Getting slowly to her feet, Kennedy cautiously edged out of the room. Standing in a small hallway, she could see a small bathroom to her right and, at the other end, another door. An archway directly across from the bathroom led into a larger room that contained a small dining room table and a number of chairs. At the far end, she could see another door that opened into what looked like a kitchen.

She could feel the subtle presence of a slayer, but the hangover was making it hard to recognize who. Not that she'd ever developed that ability to the extent of some of the others. Unlike Vi or Rona, she couldn't pick out another slayer just by being in the same place an hour or two later. But she wasn't going to give in to curiosity just yet. Exploring could wait. Ducking back into the room she'd slept in, Kennedy grabbed a large towel and washcloth sitting on a stool next to the dresser.

* * *

Her hair still wrapped up in a towel, Kennedy entered the kitchen. Looking round, she saw a note taped to the refrigerator with her name written on it. The slayer knew who she was? And hadn't kicked her out yet?

Probably a nasty-gram telling her to go away and never come back. With a few inventive threats thrown in. She wasn't ready to read it and confirm her suspicions. So far the day was turning out better than the last few.

She wasn't very hungry and hadn't been since leaving Cleveland. But maybe some coffee? Even she could make it. Though it wasn't anything special, Willow always claimed to like her coffee. No one else had ever been happy just to spend time with her even if it meant drinking her coffee.

Kennedy could tell, from where everything was stored that the slayer was her height or shorter. Two scoops, and a carafe of tap water and the coffee was gurgling away, filling the kitchen with its welcome fragrance.

Grabbing the largest mug she could find, Kennedy poured in a small helping of the plain creamer she found in the refrigerator before filling it the rest of the way to the brim with the dark coffee. She wasn't a Sunnydale girl like the Summers sisters and Willow. Sometimes she just wanted coffee. Maybe with just a touch of cream but none of that whipped, churned, or frothy mocha nonsense they seemed to worship.

Taking a small sip, she let her stomach settle for a minute before gulping down half the remaining coffee in her mug. Feeling slightly more alive, Kennedy put down her mug and reached over and tore the note off the refrigerator.

She stared at it for a moment. It was the sort of delicate, scented paper her nana used to used for letters to family. She didn't think anyone used that kind of paper anymore.

Unfolding the note, she glanced down at the signature at the bottom.

"No way!" she blurted out loudly, wincing at the way her voice echoed in the room. She'd somehow ended up in the secret hideout of the shoe diva herself. Turning her head slowly, she looked around the kitchen and through the door out into the dining room. She just couldn't see it. It wasn't an ugly house but it just didn't say 'Buffy Summers' or at least not the Buffy Summers she'd visited with Willow, several years ago in Rome. It was just too plain. And small.

Going back to the top of the note, she began to read.

_Kennedy,_

_Your clothes are in the wash in the basement. Use the dryer, or hang them up choice. Plenty of food if you get hungry. I have meetings all day. Should be back before dinner. Don't go anywhere. We'll talk when I get back._

_Call Willow. She's worried about you._

_Tell the pool boy, if he shows up, that I don't need the pool cleaned. Or anything else!_

_Buffy_

_Ps. Don't scare the neighbors!_

Call Willow? Like hell! Kennedy thought, putting down the note and grabbing her mug. For once, she was the injured party, not everyone's Wiccan sweetheart, Willow.

* * *

Kennedy stared down at the empty pool. It wasn't Olympic sized but it, and the pool house next to it, took up a corner of the back yard that she was sure was larger than the house. She wondered if Buffy planned to fill it. Not that it mattered since she wasn't staying. And there wasn't much left of the short Ohio summer to use it.

But a swim would be really nice, she thought, and the fence was high enough that her lack of pool wear wouldn't matter. And Buffy had done the whole southern European beach thing so a little nudity shouldn't offend her. Not like Willow. It'd taken her years to get Willow comfortable with that kind of non-Wiccan ceremonial nudity.

Shaking her head at the odd direction her thoughts were going, Kennedy wandered over to the pool house and peaked in the nearest window. There must be several windows on the roof, she thought, seeing the way sun light seemed to fill the empty room and reflect off of polished floors. She wondered what Buffy planned to do with it, it'd make a nice place to work out on rainy days.

* * *

Sitting on the front steps, drinking her third cup of coffee, Kennedy soaked up the sun and people watched. She was surprised at the quiet neighborhood. Very un-Buffy like. She bet the old crazy slayer wouldn't last a month away from the excitement on the Cleveland Hellmouth it was so boring.

The only excitement so far was a large SUV, something German, that had just pulled up next door. Two men, acting very couple-y in a way that would have had her gaydar, if she trusted it, not that she did since it was so obviously wrong about Bitchy Buffy, jumping up and down, got out of the front, followed by a rapidly talking teenage girl.

A very non-traditional family unit, Kennedy decided, hearing the girl address one of the men as Daddy and the other with a more formal Father. She did wonder who this Barbara was, that the girl kept invoking. Maybe the head of some kind of cult?

Things were just starting to get interesting when an old truck, that looked like it belonged in some 70's museum, pulled into Buffy's driveway. From the chlorine smell that wafted her way, she suspected it was the pool boy. Or possibly pool guy, she decided, sparing him a quick glance as he got out of the truck, looking like some jock's idea of cool with the odd mohawk-ish haircut, metal band t-shirt, and faded jeans.

"Hey," he said, stopping in front of her in what she suspected he thought was a sexy pose but didn't do anything for her. "When was the last time you had your pool cleaned."

"You're blocking my view," Kennedy said, glaring at him.

"Noah, what are you doing antagonizing our new neighbor?" a perky voice asked from behind the pool boy.

"I'm not your new neighbor," Kennedy said. "I'm just visiting."

"I was asking about the pool," he said, turning and glaring at the girl. "Don't interfere with my business, Berry."

Tilting her head, the girl gave Kennedy an intent look. "I don't believe you're her type, Noah."

"The Puckster is ever woman's type," he said. Kennedy could almost see the testosterone dripping off of him.

The girl sighed and shook her head, giving Kennedy the impression that he was a bit dense and she was just humoring him.

"When the Master of the house returns, could you extend an invitation to him for dinner tomorrow night? He may bring a guest," she said, addressing Kennedy.

"She," Kennedy corrected automatically, "and she's a little too uptight for the whole Mistress thing. But I'll let her know..." she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh," the girl said, blushing. "I'm terribly sorry. Rachel, Rachel Berry. Proper etiquette is very important, I can't believe I forgot to introduce myself."

"Pool?" the Noah-Puckster guy asked.

"Doesn't need to be cleaned," Kennedy said.

"But..." he looked ready to argue.

"Not my pool, not my decision," Kennedy said. "Just relaying a message from the pool owner."

"I'm really handy with house repairs," he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"She's right, you aren't my type," Kennedy said, nodding at Rachel. "I'm more with the automatic. And my hostess likes them older, a lot older."

"Can I watch?" he asked, smirking.

"Noah!" Rachel yelled. Reaching up she grabbed him by the ear. "We need to talk."

"Let go," he protested as she pulled him away.

"She was so scoping you out, Berry," Kennedy could hear him say to the girl as she dragged him across the lawn by an ear. "If you do it, I want to watch. Ouch!"

Kennedy snorted. The girl was kind of cute, even if she'd been dressed oddly with that really short skirt and fluffy sweater-vest, but as a mature adult cradle robbing and jail bait were not phrases Kennedy ever wanted associated with her name. She wasn't a Buffy clone, with her fascination with really older male-things, besides being a hard 6 on the Kinsey scale, but she definitely preferred real women to girls. Heck, she thought, she'd have sex with Buffy before going the jail bait route.

"Need to wash that thought right out of my head," Kennedy muttered, dumping her now cold coffee into the grass and standing up.

* * *

At the end of her orientation meeting with Emma Pillsbury, the guidance counsellor at McKinley who was supervising her practicum, there was a disturbance in the force, as Xander would put it. Turning her head towards the door Buffy received a minor shock, that she hoped wasn't as obvious as it felt.

"Alma," the tall, lanky woman in the sweat suit said, sneeringly to Emma, before raising an eye brow at Buffy.

"Summers," she said, her eyes twinkling in that way that frightened even the most hardy soul, that Buffy still remembered from her days at Hemery. "I see all those rumors of your early demise were exaggerated."

"Hi, Coach," Buffy squeaked. "What are you doing here?"

"She would have been on my first nationally ranked team, if she hadn't solved a slight mouse problem by burning down the gym the year before," she said to Emma. "She made Q look like an amateur."

"They were tough mice," Buffy said automatically.

"Burned down the gym?" Emma squeaked in shock, her wide eyes going back and forth between the coach and Buffy.

"It was fifteen years ago," Buffy grumbled. "I'm sure the statue of limitations has run out," she said, glaring at her old coach.

"My office. Now," she said to Buffy, pointing down the hall. There was something about Sue Sylvester's voice that made it impossible to resist and after a questioning look from Emma, Buffy found herself out in the hall looking for her office.

"What's the what?" Buffy asked when Sue had joined her twenty minutes later. "How long have you been in Lima?"

Sue stepped behind her desk and sat down. Gazing at Buffy, she didn't say anything for several long minutes.

"You're my new assistant coach," she said, reaching behind her desk and pulling out a pile of clothes. "Haven't had one who could keep up in years."

"I haven't cheered in fifteen years," Buffy protested.

"You're proof that my training methods work even after graduation," Sue told her. "You weigh less now than you did in high school. Fortunately, the assistant's uniform is just your size," she muttered, placing the pile in front of her.

"That's not true," Buffy grumbled. "We have completely different training methods. No one is going to believe this."

"People around here call me crazy," Sue said. "I prefer to think of myself as lovably eccentric. My methods are certainly much better than a bunch of old coots in London who let themselves get blown up because they wouldn't take my advice. My parents hunted Nazis. I have a special nose for evil headed my way."

"What?" Buffy said, alarm bells going off in her head.

"I don't play favorites, though my Cheerios think I do. It's an important motivational tool in the Sue Sylvester arsenal."

"What aren't you telling me?" Buffy asked warily.

"This year's routines are here," Sue said, ignoring her question and putting a DVD on top of the clothes. "Make sure you watch them tonight. A new edition of 'Cheering the Sue Sylvester Way' just came back from the printers. Read it. Embrace it." She added a slim book to the pile. "You'll have to use the assistant's locker in the Cheerios locker room but I'm sure you've dealt with worse than a bunch of hormone overloaded teenagers." She scribbled several numbers on a scrap of paper and added it to the pile.

"I'm not here to be your minion," Buffy protested, staring at the growing pile.

"Your new on-site practicum advisor, me, would disagree," Sue said. "I knew keeping my state Psychologist certification up to date was a good idea."

"What about Ms. Pillsbury?" Buffy asked, dreading the answer.  
"You still have to do that touch-feelie emotional crap with her, but dear, sweet Emma," Sue sneered as she said that, "only gets twenty-five percent of your practicum time. The rest is mine."

"Okay..." Buffy sighed. She was going to have to talk with her faculty advisor about this but even her brief exposure to Sue Sylvester fifteen years ago had shown her how futile protesting one of her schemes was.

"Sure, it's not as exciting as running a world-wide organization of demon hunters," Sue continued, "but we do important work here. Being coach of a nationally ranked squad isn't just a cover."

Buffy stared at her in shock. "You wore tweed?" She was the old Council operative Giles was looking for?

"Tweed? Nasty stuff. Smells like dead sheep when it gets wet," Sue said. "7 AM tomorrow out on the Athletic field. Don't be late. And tell Rupert he still owes me for that antidote."

"Rupert?" Buffy stood up. She couldn't possibly mean Giles, she thought in shock.

"Don't you have other places to be?" Sue said, opening a folder on her desk, dismissing her.

Nodding, Buffy grabbed the pile from Sue's desk and hurried out of her office, feeling like she'd regressed fifteen years to the girl who fell all over herself to make her coach happy. She wondered how she was going to keep this potential fiasco from the Scoobies.


	3. Not the Cereal with a Hole

**Author's Note:** No Kennedy's were bashed in the production of this chapter.  
**Word Count:** 3,636

* * *

Buffy stormed back into Emma's office, ignoring the other person who'd joined her. Nodding to Emma, she dropped the pile of things Sue had given her onto an empty chair next to the door and pulled out her phone.

"I can't believe she did that to me," Buffy ranted, pacing in front of Emma's desk. "Me! The PM cancels meetings if I need to talk. I have the President's Chief of Staff on speed dial. The Queen invites me to tea at least once a month. I have a friend who hangs out with the Dalai Lama. And I let Sue Sylvester walk all over me like I was still one of her 15 year old cheer minions. What is wrong with me!" she said turning to Emma who was staring at her with wide eyes.

"Uh..."

"Rhetorical question," Buffy said, raising her hand before Emma could say anything. "Who are you?" she asked the skinny guy who'd been listening to her rant with undisguised interest.

"Will Schuester," he said, holding out his hand and giving her a look that she suspected he thought was charming. He couldn't have been that much older than either her or Emma but something about him made her feel old.

"What's with the hair?" Buffy blurted out, blinking at his one notable feature. It kind of reminded her of Angel's, back when he was trying to impress teenage her. And not in a good way. He nervously ran his fingers through it at her comment.

"Will is the director of the school Glee club," Emma said.

"Glee? Some kind of singing thing?" Buffy asked, grabbing her tote bag from its spot near the door and stuffing everything from Sue into it. She'd sort it out when she got home.

"Show choir," he said eagerly. "The kids are great. You should come to the auditorium tomorrow afternoon and hear them."

"Singing? Not really my thing," Buffy said, grimacing. She really didn't want to revisit certain Sunnydale memories. Especially on a Tuesday.

"Oh," Will frowned.

"Excuse me, I have to call an old friend and express my displeasure at Sue's antics," she said, holding up her phone. "I'll see you tomorrow morning as soon as I can escape from her? We still need to discuss my schedule," she said to Emma, who nodded in agreement. Picking up her tote, she stepped out into the hall.

* * *

While she waited for Giles to pick up his phone, Buffy could hear Emma and the singing hair guy talking.

"That's your new practicum student?" Will asked. "She's older than I expected. How'd Sue get her hooks into her already?"

"You know Sue, Will. Once she gets something into her head, nothing can change it."

"Do you want me to go to Figgins?" he offered.

"No. There's no need. This'll work out fine."

"How can you say that?" Will said. "She's interfering again."

"This isn't about you, Will." Buffy thought Emma sounded disappointed. She wondered what their history was. When she'd first met her, Emma had radiated sweetness and a slightly awkward innocence. Hair guy seemed to be causing her some stress. Buffy hoped leaving her alone with him wasn't a bad idea.

"Come on! This is Sue we're talking about. She's going to use this, I'm not sure how yet, to try to destroy Glee!"

"No, this will be fine," Emma repeated. "She'll be good for them. Someone less intense than Sue as a role model will be good for the Cheerios."

"How can you say that?"

Shaking her head, Buffy stopped listening at that point. She'd have to ask Sue what this guy's problem was. And Emma, when he wasn't around.

Stepping further down the hall, she didn't wait for Giles to say anything. "Hey Giles, it's me. What's the deal with you and Sue Sylvester? Is there something about the old Council guy you forgot to tell me? Like it's not a guy and you know her?"

"How could you not know it's her?" she asked, leaning against a locker. "Yeah, yeah. Big explosion, Council records confettied. Someday that excuse won't work, mister!"

"She says you owe her," Buffy said. "Isn't owing her favors kind of dangerous? Like apocalyptically bad?"

"Where did I run into her? Now? She's a coach at the school I'm doing my practicum at."

"Or do you mean how do I know what she's like having just met her? She was my cheer coach in LA, before I moved to Sunnydale. Yes, cheerleading. Cute girls in short skirts waving pom-poms at sporting events."

"No, it's not a cult. Even if it seems like that to certain wearers of tweed because cricket doesn't have them. Yes, I know what cricket is. Dawn had a crush on a cricketer and made me watch."

"Enough about Sue. You can call her if you want to know how she ended up in Lima with a Council expense account, which she totally probably uses for something cheerleader-ish. No, I'm not going to be the one to tell her we're cutting her off. Yes, I'll get you her number." She didn't bother wishing him luck. She suspected Sue would keep her Council account and wouldn't be surprised if she got more. Her old coach tended to steamroll obstacles in her path. Unless he got his 'Ripper' on, Giles didn't stand a chance against her.

"Now, let's talk about Kennedy. Yes, that Kennedy. Why would I want to talk about a dead president?" Buffy picked up her tote again, and started walking towards the exit.

"Do you want me to keep her here or send her somewhere? No, they aren't talking. Willow said it's personal and blames herself for whatever they are fighting about. She wants to give her some space to calm down."

"My choice? What am I going to do with her? I don't need any help, yet. And I don't really want her near Sue too much. We really don't need a possibly unstable slayer exposed to that brand of crazy."

"So, tell Andrew to put her down for a sabbatical."

"How long? Until I say so." Buffy could feel a headache coming on. She didn't need Giles second guessing her again.

"She's been a slayer long enough to deserve a break. A month or two should be enough time for her to get her act together. It's not like somebody died or she had her heart broken. It's just the usual Kennedy Willow drama, but a little more intense than usual. Have him put her down for apocalypse calls only."

"Thanks Giles. Gotta go."

"'K. Bye," she said, finding herself standing next to her car.

"Watchers!" Buffy grumbled, putting away her phone. "If it doesn't involve dusty old books or demons trying to take over the world they're helpless."

* * *

"Hey!" Buffy said, peaking into the living room, and spotting Kennedy curled up on her couch, gripping one of the large sofa pillows tightly, watching something on the TV. She would never call Kennedy pathetic looking but she radiated enough sadness that it made her teeth ache. This really wasn't normal behavior. She needed to call Dawn for a second opinion. If Kennedy was acting like a severe case of kicked puppies, Willow must be verging on catatonic.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" she asked, leaning against the door. "We can order in, go out, or I can throw something together."

"You can cook?" Kennedy said, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"Yes, I can cook," Buffy said, joining her on the couch.

Kennedy gave her a skeptical look but said nothing.

"Dawn insisted I take some cooking classes when we were in Rome," Buffy said. "Not that I couldn't cook before, just never had the time to get good at it," she grumbled. She'd never been able to find out who started the rumor that she couldn't even boil water.

"So, that means lots of things with pasta?"

"Pretty much," Buffy agreed. "And real Neapolitan pizza. More or less. Don't have the right oven," she added, frowning.

"Really?" Kennedy said, now looking at her with interest.

"Yes, really," Buffy said, wondering what the look meant. "I noticed you didn't have anything with you?"

"Nope," Kennedy said bluntly. "Things free."

Buffy nodded. When she'd called her, Willow hadn't explained what had happened with Kennedy, other than to say they'd had a disagreement and it wasn't Kennedy's fault and she just needed some space to work things out so could she please keep an eye on Kennedy. And ask her to please call? All said in a burst of classic guilty Willow babel.

"You're welcome to stick around," Buffy told her. "You can have the guest room. There's not much nightlife so it can get kind of boring. I'll be busy working on my practicum and classes so you'll have the house to yourself most of the time. Or not. Your choice."

"I..." Kennedy frowned, obviously not expecting the offer.

"No need to decide right now," Buffy said, quickly moving on. She'd tell her about the sabbatical if she decided to stay. "Lima's not huge but there are some decent shops downtown. There's also a mall if you want to go there instead."

"The mall sounds good," Kennedy said, putting down the pillow and sitting up.

"Okay," Buffy said. "We can eat there first, they have a BreadStix."

Kennedy nodded and turned off the TV.

* * *

Having a rich father, Kennedy'd seen her share of expensive cars growing up. But the car sitting in Buffy's driveway wasn't something she expected, and not just because of its unique red tinted black paint job. She'd heard so many stories over the years about Buffy and driving being a bad combination that a new looking Porsche 911 was the last thing she thought Buffy would have.

"Nice car," Kennedy said, sliding into the passenger seat. "Can I borrow it some time?"

"It was a gift," Buffy said. "We'll see."

"Some gift," Kennedy murmured, glancing around the interior. "Police package?" she asked, seeing the lights and extra radios. "Didn't know they sold these outside Germany. How'd you get your hands on it?"

Buffy shrugged, blushing. "Can't say. Seatbelt," she added, settling into her seat with an odd little twist.

Frowning, Kennedy buckled herself in. She'd get it out of her eventually. She didn't need Willow around to pry info from Buffy to satisfy her curiosity.

"Anything exciting happen today?" Buffy asked, starting up the car.

"Met a neighbor," Kennedy said. "You and a plus-one are invited to dinner at the Berry's tomorrow night." She waved at the house next door.

"A plus-one? I haven't been in town long enough for one of those," Buffy muttered. "You'll have to come with," she said. "The pool boy didn't show up, did he?"

"Yes."

"Yes?" Buffy asked, pulling out onto the street. "Not a demon I suppose? Incubus maybe?"

"Nope, high school jock," Kennedy said. "He owes your neighbor one. She dragged him away before I had to hurt him."

"So, you met the daughter?"

"Rachel Berry? Yes. She came over and introduced herself when she invited you over for dinner. There was something odd about her," Kennedy said, watching the houses fly by.

"More jailbait?"

"Yes, but that wasn't it," Kennedy said, frowning. "It'll come to me."

"Demon?"

"Not exactly," Kennedy said.

"There are several neutral demon clans in Lima," Buffy said. "They even have their own bar."

"I might remember that from yesterday," Kennedy muttered.

* * *

"It's not a bad mall for middle of nowhere Ohio," Buffy said, as they waited for their waitress to return with their order. "The first week was a bit of a cultural shock after Rome."

"Didn't you just spend the last year in Cleveland?"

"Yes, but I was too busy traveling or going to class to check out the culture. I was still on Rome time."

"More like lack of culture," Kennedy said, shaking her head. "You can tell by the beer," she added, taking a small sip of the chilled golden beverage in front of her. "Reminds me of the crap I drank in high school."

"That would be why I'm drinking this," Buffy said, holding up her wine glass.

"I thought it was because of a certain magic beer episode," Kennedy said, grinning.

"Not fair!" Buffy said, pouting. "Willow's been telling stories again."

"At least you have interesting stories," Kennedy said, a sad look flashing across her face. "The most exciting thing that happened to me was getting kicked out of boarding school for getting caught with the Headmistress's daughter."

"Really?" Buffy asked. "were you saving her from some demon, or a vampire?"

"I was fourteen," Kennedy said. "It was just an attack of hormones."

"I'm sure we can come up with a better story than that," Buffy said. "Everyone needs one to impress the newbies. Faith has that crocodile wrestling story. Willow has the whole Moloch thing, and Xander has that love spell screw up."

"And you?"

"Giles made a record of all of my little episodes," Buffy said, grumpily. "I'm sure you've seen it."

"Willow insisted," Kennedy admitted. "But it was mostly as a guilt thing. She blames herself for a lot of it."

"That's foolish," Buffy said. "But so Willow."

* * *

"You've only been here a day and you already have admirers?" Buffy asked, subtly pointing out two skinny girls, a tall blonde and shorter brunette, watching them from a booth on the other side of the restaurant.

"I'm good, but not that good," Kennedy said, smirking. "First time I've seen them."

"Sure about that?" Buffy asked. "They seem really interested."

"I wasn't that drunk last night," Kennedy mumbled. "Not really looking for that jailbait experience," she said. "Though one of them does look like a distant cousin. Very distant."

"I suspect Willow might have a problem with that also," Buffy said, grabbing a breadstick from the basket in the middle of their table.

"I don't think she would care," Kennedy muttered.

"She sounded like she cared when I talked with her last night," Buffy said.

"You have no idea what she did to me, do you," Kennedy said, glaring at her.

"Not unless you tell me," Buffy said. "She's not talking."

"She's you best friend. I thought she told you everything!"

"We haven't been that close in years," Buffy said. "She did say it wasn't your fault," she added, hoping that would encourage Kennedy to speak.

"I don't want to talk about it right now," Kennedy mumbled, right before they were interrupted by their dinner.

* * *

"Cute outfit," Kennedy said, wandering into the living room with her coffee the next morning. Buffy had mumbled something at dinner the night before about helping one of the coaches at her school, but seeing her dressed up as a cheerleader was unexpected. "Aren't you a bit old to be a cheerleader?"

"I'm only thirty," Buffy said. "And I'm not a cheerleader." She pointed at the small 'assistant coach' stitched above her left breast. "Assistant coach. Is me."

"I thought you came to Lima to finish up your degree?" Kennedy said, trying to hold back a laugh.

"I did," Buffy said, plopping down onto the coffee table. "I'm doing my practicum at one of the local schools and taking a couple classes. The cheerleading coach decided she wanted me to spend some of that time helping her."

"And you agreed?"

"She's my old coach from before I became a slayer," Buffy said. "And Giles owes her one. Couldn't really say no without causing an international incident."

"Huh. Your Watcher before Giles?" Kennedy asked, putting down her coffee and throwing herself onto the couch.

"No, that was Merrick," Buffy said. "She was some kind of researcher, he wasn't sure what kind."

"Maybe she's figured out how to turn cheerleaders into slayers?" Kennedy said, laughing at the thought.

"God, I hope not!" Buffy said, visibly shuddering.

"What are you watching?" Kennedy asked, sitting up once her laughter was under control.

"Last year's Nationals," Buffy said. "McKinley's squad took first."

"Not an ugly in the bunch," Kennedy said.

"Two words," Buffy said. "Jailbait. Willow."

"Just admiring the scenery," Kennedy said. "Not that Willow would care," she couldn't help adding.

Frowning, Buffy paused the DVD, the two girls from the restaurant centered on the screen. "Spot a familiar face?"

"They must have been watching you, not me," Kennedy said. "Probably just checking out the new coach."

"If you say so," Buffy said.

"What're you doing today?" Kennedy asked.

"The Cheerios have practice first thing," Buffy said, "and after that I need to spend time with my other advisor and set up a schedule for the term. Classes don't start at McKinley until next Monday so I don't know what I'll be doing the rest of this week, other than my class over at the university, and whatever Coach has planned." Picking up the remote, Buffy stopped the DVD and turned off the TV. "And I really need to get going. Need to stop for coffee on the way."

"Mind if I tag along?" Kennedy said. She had nothing better to do. A distraction from thinking about Willow would be good, she thought. Watching cute, hopefully, cheerleaders would be an interesting way to start the day, even in a look, don't touch, kind of way. No, she wasn't afraid to admit to a little shallowness on occasion.

"I guess," Buffy said. "Don't expect any excitement. Just some teenage drama. Sue likes to start weeding out the riff-raff early so there are probably gonna be a few suddenly ex-cheerleaders."

"You remember this from high school?" Kennedy asked, following her to the door after quickly ditching her coffee in the kitchen.

"Not really," Buffy said. "Coach wrote a book. She thinks fear and uncertainty is a great way to keep them on their toes."

"Definitely went to classic Watcher school," Kennedy said.

"Yup!" Buffy nodded.

"How'd the coach thing happen?" Kennedy wondered out loud.

"No idea. Giles used the shredded Council records excuse," Buffy said.

"Again?"

Buffy nodded again, leading the way to her car.

* * *

"Hey Coach," Buffy said, pausing to take a sip of her mocha cafe. "Looks like you have a fan club. Are they here every day?" she waved at Will Schuester and several students glaring at Sue from the stands.

"I had them change the locks on the auditorium and choir room this morning," Sue said maliciously.

"Okay..." Buffy frowned.

"Just a little reminder to Schuester not to interfere with me," Sue said.

"You don't like him?" Buffy asked, turning to give him another look. "Seems mostly harmless. He doesn't give off any evil vibes."

"There are other types of evil than the ones you grew up fighting," Sue murmured. "He takes social losers and teaches them to fail even more while reliving his glory years."

"So, ignore him?" Buffy asked, not expecting an answer. "What about his singing minions?"

"Four of them belong to me," Sue said. Putting her megaphone to her mouth, she yelled out "Q, get over here! Lopez, Pierce, and Ladyface! You too! "

Buffy raised an eyebrow at the lineup that formed in front of them. A tall, grouchy looking blonde, the two girls from the restaurant the night before, and a skinny boy who made Andrew look macho.

"Q, this is Summers, my new assistant coach. She's going to help you get rid of the rest of that baby flab. Lopez, you and your itch," she nodded at the other blonde, "are going to help. Hummel, you're her assistant."

"Coach, are you sure about this?" Buffy asked. It would have been nice to have some warning, she thought. Or even a plan.

"One more," Sue said, ignoring her question. Turning to the stands, she bellowed "Berry, get down here!"

* * *

"Summers has almost as many black belts as I do," she said as soon as the short brunette had nervously joined them. "I managed to grab her when she retired from her international jet-set security firm before Special Forces could, so don't waste her time. You're hers every morning until I say so. No arguments," she said pointedly to the non-Cheerio.

"Coach, you know some of those were just honorary," Buffy said, deciding that asking where Sue got her information from was a lost cause. It might sound crazy but there was always an element of truth to it.

"And, Summers, tell that girlfriend of yours to get a job somewhere else," Sue said, before picking up her bullhorn and stomping away towards the rest of the Cheerios, her assistant Becky in tow.

"Girlfriend?" Buffy squeaked, turning to see Kennedy waving at her from the bleachers.

Turning back, Buffy frowned at the five teenagers. She shook her head. There wasn't enough coffee in the world to deal with Sue craziness so early in the morning.

"I told Special Forces no years ago," Buffy grumbled. "I don't look good in green and combat boots make my hips look wider."

"Hey," a soft voice said moments before an arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

"Kennedy," Buffy growled, turning her head slightly to glare up at her, "let go before I break it!"

"Is that any way to talk to your girlfriend?" Kennedy asked, winking at her.

"You're not my girlfriend," Buffy said, removing her arm and stepping back.

"I'm hurt!" Kennedy said, pouting and rubbing her arm.

"I'll make something else hurt," Buffy said, glaring at her.

"Buffy, Buffy," Kennedy said, smirking. "You'll frighten your new minions."

"Minions?" Buffy said. Suddenly remembering their audience, Buffy turned to find three wide-eyed teenagers gaping at them, Lopez, the brunette from the restaurant, smirking, and Pierce, the blonde from the restaurant, smiling.

"You guys are so hot together," Pierce said.

"It's not what it looks like," Buffy said, blushing.


	4. Genetic Opera

**Disclaimer:** See first chapter. New: The Sackett/Talon/Chantry series of Westerns belongs to the estate of Louis L'Amour. I'm just borrowing.  
**Notes:** Still post Season 1 AU for Glee, but I am borrowing some character backstory when it fits my purposes. The adults are still the main focus of this story.  
**More Notes:** I wanted a large, complex family as a framework for this story. The Sacketts provide that. Let me apologize in advance for the over abundance of coincidences y'all are about to be subjected to.  
**Word count:** 4,572

_Follows immediately after the previous chapter._

* * *

No leprechauns were harmed in the making of this fic.

* * *

Stepping back, Kennedy looked at Buffy and her new teen minions, trying not to laugh at the picture they presented. Four girls, two tall blondes and two shorter brunettes, and a skinny boy who was setting off her gaydar in huge, neon, rainbow colored waves. Two of the cheerleaders, the two from the restaurant the night before, were standing very closely together and though they weren't giving off obvious couple vibes, there was something intimate in the way they leaned against each other.

She still wasn't sure what to make of Rachel Berry. Something about her was still setting off her slayer instincts. She'd have to ask Buffy later if she noticed anything.

And then there was the other cheerleader, called Q by the cranky old coach. Obviously the alpha of the pack, she couldn't wait to see how the tall teen would react to prolonged Buffy exposure. It wasn't just survival that made the short blonde head slayer, even after supposedly retiring. Under that slightly ditzy, California beach bunny exterior was an alpha predator not to be trifled with. A lesson Kennedy had painfully learned herself that first year after Sunnydale after challenging her one time too often.

Buffy obviously wasn't expecting minions, Kennedy thought, watching her stare at the small group, her nose scrunched up and her left eyebrow twitching. Now would be a good time to hit the road, she decided, even if that strange Council relic had clearly told Buffy to get rid of her, something she would normally rebel against.

"Keys?" she asked, loudly.

Turning to her, Buffy raised the still twitching eyebrow in a classic, 'are you kidding me', expression.

"Or I could just hang out here," she offered with a smirk. "Being the supportive girlfriend type that I am."

Buffy glared at her for a moment, muttering a 'Willow really owes me for this' that only Kennedy could hear. "Don't go anywhere," Buffy told her minions, before grabbing Kennedy by the arm and dragging her over to her tote, out of earshot of the curious kids.

"Here," she said, digging her keys out and handing them over. "Bring it back by lunch. And keep a low profile. No tickets. If you so much as scratch it, there's nowhere you can hide!"

"Got it," Kennedy said. Waving at the kids, she winked at Buffy and sauntered off. She had a date with a fast car.

Kurt tried not to gape at the antics of the new assistant coach and her butch girlfriend. If Coach hadn't banned texting during practice he'd be spreading the word to Mercedes as it happened. Glancing to the side, he checked the others for their reactions, as he composed the text to Mercedes in his head.

Santana seemed amused by their behavior; Staring off towards the bleachers, Brittany was going for her usual dumb blonde look, though he'd stopped believing that after spying her with a copy of Sun Tzu's "The Art of War" in an out of the way corner of Lima's public library last spring. Quinn looked ready to tear someone's head off. He suspected the baby fat comment from Coach Sylvester wasn't appreciated after all the groveling she'd apparently done to get back on the Cheerios. Berry was doing her diva fuming thing and he was regretting leaving his ear plugs in his locker. Any minute now she was going to explode, spewing argyle and attitude everywhere.

"Right. Names," Coach Summers said, having returned, holding a clipboard, while he was scoping out the others. "Unless you want me to use her nicknames?"

"No," Kurt quickly murmured, along with the others, grabbing the clipboard she shoved in his direction.

"Rachel Berry," Berry said. "I have more important things to do than be here. I'm sure you can do whatever megalomaniacal exercise Coach Sylvester has planned without my presence."

Raising an eyebrow, Coach Summers held up her hand, effectively squashing Berry's rant, Kurt thought smugly. "Rachel? If you could be patient for a few minutes? Thanks."

"Quinn Fabray, and I don't need to lose any more weight," Quinn grumbled, her tone a lot more respectful than he expected, given her expression.

"Santana Lopez, and unlike Juno here, I think she could lose some," Santana said with more than a touch of her normal snark. Kurt tried to put some more distance between himself and Quinn without being too obvious. He really didn't want to get in the way of the two as they jockeyed for head cheerleader if they decided to get into here.

"I'll keep that in mind," Coach Summers said.

"Brittany S. Pierce, not Spears," Brittany said, her eyes focusing on Coach Summers for a moment, before returning to looking elsewhere.

"Okay..." Coach Summers looked confused, a common occurrence when unprepared adults first encountered Brittany. Kurt snorted, drawing her attention.

"And you are?" she asked him.

"Kurt Hummel," he said, just barely refraining from reflexively trying to out-diva Berry.

"Coach appears to believe you all need extra training," she said. "She has apparently left the kind of said training up to me. You aren't quite what I'm used to working with so I'll need to know what you do for physical activity, besides the obvious." She gestured at the Cheerios being run into the ground by Coach Sylvester. Kurt winced.

"I..." Rachel began before being stopped again. Kurt snorted in amusement again.

"Write it down," she said, pointing at the clipboard Kurt was holding. "Five minutes."

"Your life stories weren't necessary," Buffy grumbled, quickly reading the collection of autobiographies, one of them three paragraphs long. Based on what he wrote, Kurt seemed to be the least physically active of the five. But Buffy could have guessed that just from looking at them. Even Rachel, the smallest of the girls, had a stronger physical presence. Unfortunately, although he was her designated assistant she did expect him to keep up.

They'd all had some kind of dance training, she noticed. That might make things easier. At least they had something in common.

"Capoeira?" she said, looking up at Santana and Brittany in surprise. One of the slayers from Brazil was teaching it in Cleveland and she'd sat in on a few sessions before moving to Lima but she couldn't claim more than a passing awareness of it.

"It's a family thing," Santana said, shrugging. "I've gots an uncle who teaches it in Cinnci."

"It's like dancing," Brittany added. "Me and San do it together."

Buffy nodded. She didn't have a real plan yet, but she was getting an idea or two to run by Sue. "We won't be doing anything too strenuous today. Just a quick run to give me a feel for your condition. Six laps?"

"I'm not dressed for any physical activity," Rachel protested. "And school hasn't started yet, so my gym clothes are at home."

"I'm sure we can find someone to lend you sneakers," Buffy said. "Or not," she muttered, noticing at the reactions of the other kids to the idea, all of them trying to subtly distance themselves from the girl.

* * *

Sighing, Buffy slipped into Sue's office. She'd extracted a promise from Rachel to meet her back at the school track later before letting her escape. The other three girls hadn't even broken a sweat during their laps, not unexpected from Sue-trained cheerleaders. Kurt, on the other hand, had survived but was going to need to spend some time working on his endurance. She wondered if she could get Giles to send her the physical training guides used to train new Watchers.

"Did you know who I was back in LA?" she asked, plopping down onto one of the chairs in front of her desk.

"Not until that old fool Merrick got in the way of Lothos," Sue said.

"He wasn't a fool," Buffy protested.

"He was a loose cannon," Sue said dismissively. "No one knew he was even training you until he died."

Buffy winced at her expression. Dawn had found the Council report on Merrick's death in a pile of other documents retrieved from Quentin Travers summer home after the new Council had taken possession of it. It might have echoed Sue's opinion, in a politer fashion, but it still rankled.

"Coach? What's really going on?" Buffy asked, deciding to not pursue the issue. "You don't really need an assistant coach."

"I don't normally explain myself, but for you? I'll make an exception," Sue said, smirking at her from across her desk. Standing up, she turned around and moved aside a trophy and large photo of herself wearing a medal of some sort to reveal a small wall safe. Opening it with a few quick turns, she removed a folder and a small vial.

"Back before your little dust-up in Sunnydale, I'd been researching the distribution of potential slayers in a given population, when I noticed that Lima has had at least two at any one time for the last century. But they've never been chosen." She handed Buffy several charts. "The Council agreed, with a bit of the usual encouragement, to fund my research."

"Okay," Buffy murmured before looking at the top chart. It resembled a fancy family tree, with almost unreadable small print, even to her eyes. Touching one of the highlighted sections caused it to expand. "Neat trick. How'd you get this?"

"Mayan witch doctor," Sue said. "Took some clever bargaining, but they don't call me Slick Sue just because of my looks."

"So some of them are related?" Buffy asked, spotting several names mixed in with what looked like random numbers. She wasn't sure what the terminology was for such distant cousins. "Do they know about this?"

"All slayers are related," Sue told her, "if you go back far enough. I'm not one to interfere in that little incest thing you have going on with your girlfriend, I had a third cousin who could do this thing with her tongue that you wouldn't believe, but telling Q and S they share DNA would get in the way of their competitive edge. So don't tell them," she growled.

"Got it. Keeping the minions in the dark," Buffy said, nodding. "For now. But I think the word should be passed to the appropriate parties."

"This is proprietary information, Summers," Sue said. "I expect you to keep this to yourself while you prepare them."

"Prepare them?"

"Yes. Just because you're overrun with bloodthirsty little assassins up in Cleveland doesn't mean you can't use Team Sue to help out when you need to inconspicuously insert a team into a situation. Who better to give them that added edge?"

"I have connections," Buffy said, pulling out her phone. One thing at a time, she decided, taking a slow, deep breath. Sue's plans for using the girls as a mobile slayer hit squad could wait. "I've heard you enjoy scrabbling around and scheming for funding but this tidbit? I can almost guarantee you that we can get you more without having to cash in that favor Giles owes you."

"I'm listening," Sue said, smirking.

Shaking her head in amusement, Buffy hit the speed dial for Willow. As soon as it started ringing she tapped the combination to put it on speaker and placed her phone in the middle of Sue's desk.

"Hey Buffy! Have you talked with Kennedy? She hasn't called me yet," Willow said.

"Willow, speaker phone!" Buffy said quickly. "Can we discuss your wayward girlfriend later?"

"Sorry," Willow said. Buffy could easily picture her sad expression from the tone of her voice. "What's up?"

"What do you know about slayer genetics?"

"Not much. We know the old Council was starting to look into it, before the First got them, but all we have is a note from Quentin Travers mentioning an S. Sylvester," Willow said. "I'd really like to spend some time getting together a team to look into it but right now it's a low priority. I just have too many other responsibilities."

"Well, if that 'S' means 'Sue', I have the old Council genetics expert right here, and you'll never believe who it is," Buffy said.

"You do?" Willow said, her excitement obvious even over the phone.

"Yup, say hello to Sue Sylvester," Buffy said.

"Your crazy old coach from Hemery?" Willow said. "Oops. Sorry, Ms. Sylvester."

"I wear my crazy proudly," Sue said, winking at Buffy. "It's the only way to stay sane dealing with the incompetents and clueless mouth breathers around here."

"Um, okay," Willow said. "Where exactly is 'here'? Buffy, I know you're living in Lima."

"Coach is working on her seventh National Cheerleading title here at McKinley," Buffy said. "And she was kind enough to let me help out while I'm doing my practicum."

"You can only learn so much from Erma and her groupies," Sue said, tapping the charts on her desk. Buffy nodded at her.

"What do you have for me?" Willow asked. "You could have told this to me next month at the next Council Board meeting."

"I have four teenage potentials here in Lima," Buffy said, knowing that Willow was keeping an eye out for any post-Sunnydale potentials who cropped up.

"Really? In one town that size? That's a bit unusual," Willow said. "That's more than we've found in all of Canada. Any chance you could give me their names?"

"Santana Lopez, Rachel Berry, Quinn Fabray, and Brittany Pierce," Buffy said, quickly rattling them off.

There was a pause and the faint clacking of keys could be heard in the background. "Huh. Three of those are new ones. Kennedy's mother was a Lopez, one of those Brazilian demon hunting Lopez's. I wonder if that Santana is related."

"Could be. Kennedy did say that she looked like a distant cousin," Buffy said. "Which one do you recognize?"

"Remember Sister Mike?" Willow asked.

"Sunnydale Sister Mike?"

"Yup," Willow said.

"She let me try on her wimple," Buffy said. "She said I wasn't nun material."

Willow giggled. "I bet you looked cute in it," she said. "I don't think she was really nun material either."

"No?"

"She moved to New York a few years ago. She's now a tattoo artist," Willow said.

"That's different. How'd you find that out?"

"She lives with one of our New York lawyers," Willow said. "I ran into her last month when we had that barbecue with all the New York/Jersey slayers, Watchers, and their families."

"Okay..." Buffy said, wondering where Willow was going with the trip down memory lane. "And?"

"Guess who else was there? Blonde, model thin, teenager," Willow said. "Gives the impression that she's taller than she is."

"With a Cordelia-lite attitude a mile wide?"

"Yup."

"Quinn Fabray?"

"That would be her," Willow said.

"Does she know she's a potential?" Buffy asked.

"No."

"Why not?" Buffy asked, surprised. The new Council had very strict rules about approaching potentials and their families, not that she really expected Sue to go along with them.

"Post-Partum?" Sue said, frowning.

"How'd you guess?" Willow asked.

"Q reminds me of a young Sue Sylvester, with her vicious, possessive, take no prisoners attitude," she said, "but pregnancy is a game changer. Knowing Q and that bleeding heart she hides from her Bible-thumping parents, she probably hasn't gotten over tossing the spawn away. Yet."

"She really had a baby?" Buffy asked. "I thought that was just you being, well, you," she said.

"Whenever have you known me to coddle or lie?" Sue asked Buffy.

"Never," Buffy answered.

"Apparently she took the whole vampire and demon thing surprisingly well, but her sister agreed that telling her about being a potential should wait a few months," Willow told them. "Besides, I'm not sure why she's still just a potential. Even with the pregnancy, she should have become a slayer by now with our normal newbie attrition."

"That, my dear Tree, is what makes this pit stop on the way to Hell so interesting," Sue said. "Every generation there have been at least two potential slayers in Lima but none of them have ever become a slayer."

"Ah, any theories?"

"Possibly," Sue said, pointing at Buffy.

"Oh yeah. Willow?" Buffy said, knowing a cue when she saw one.

"Yeah?"

"Coach is being funded out of one of those old Council budget lines Giles has been trying to find and shut down."

"And?"

"I would hate for all her research to go to waste. You know how stingy Travers was," Buffy said. "And Giles is showing signs of the same stinginess. I think we need to make sure Coach is given the additional funding she needs to figure out the Lima Potential mystery. And a safe spot on the Council Org chart so he can't take it back."

"Head of the Genetics department?" Willow asked.

"That's between you and Coach," Buffy said. "I'm retired."

"Got it. Don't hurt the poor slayer's head with the science."

"Damn right," Buffy said. "Do you need Coach's number?"

"Nope, got it and her email," Willow said.

"Efficient, I like that," Sue said.

"We'll let you go now, and I'll see you next week in Cleveland," Buffy said.

"Okay Buffy," Willow said. "Love yah."

"Ditto," Buffy said.

"Try not to abuse her enthusiasm for sciency things," Buffy said to Sue as soon as Willow had hung up.

"Me?" Sue said, not hiding her smirk. "Abuse the weak?"

"Yes, you Coach. She sounds sweet and gullible but Willow is probably the most powerful, ruthless witch on our side. You don't want to get on her bad side, it can be deadly," Buffy told her. She'd give Willow a call later with advice on how to deal with craziness of the Sylvester sort. "And she'll probably be the next head of the Council when Giles retires."

"Gotcha," Sue said, nodding. "The Tree is a worthy power in the Sue pantheon."

"They don't call her the Red Goddess just because of her hair color," Buffy said.

"I'll keep that in mind," Sue said. "Don't you have a meeting with the Scheuster Hair Fairy fan club?"

"Right," Buffy said, putting away her phone and standing up at Sue's non-subtle dismissal.

* * *

Only two hours in, and Kennedy was in love. The car wasn't just beautiful, it was heaven on four wheels. Whomever had given it to Buffy really knew how to tune a car for slayer reflexes. It made every other car she'd ever driven feel like a Yugo, even her father's prized M5 and the M Roadster he'd given her for her sixteenth birthday. It wasn't just fast. It loved to hug the road, especially curves, and hills. Driving it wasn't the same intense experience as fighting evil, or epic nights driving Willow crazy in bed, but it beat almost anything else she'd done since becoming a slayer.

She'd do almost anything Buffy asked to keep driving it. Almost.

Slowing down on her way back to McKinley, Kennedy noticed a small coffee shop. Hit by the urge for a hot cup of flavored caffeine, she quickly found a parking spot.

Kennedy stared up at the three story building, down a side street across from the coffee shop. She'd spotted a For Sale sign on her way back to the car and, on a whim, decided to investigate. It vaguely reminded her of a brownstone in Harlem an old schoolmate had lived in. It wasn't very large but it had possibilities. Gulping the last of her coffee before tossing the styrofoam cup into a nearby trash can, she climbed the steps, stopping briefly to stare at the double glass doors.

The lobby was clean, if a bit worn and dingy. The directory had a single entry, for the second floor, a "Miriam's Dance Studio". A bulletin board mounted next to it contained several notices for a school play, and something at the local community theater.

She decided to start at the top and work her way down. There was an elevator with a large 'Out of Order' sign pasted across the front. Frowning, she looked around for a stairway.

The top floor seemed to be offices, all empty. All locked.

The dance studio took up the entire second floor. The hours posted on the door said noon until 9PM. She wondered what kind of money it made with those hours. It was too dark to see beyond a desk in the reception area.

Back on the ground floor, there were two doors, in addition to the stairway and elevator. Peering through the grimy window of the one closest to the stairs, it appeared to be a small office. The other door had a faded sign for one of those chain Kung Fu businesses from the early Eighties. When she'd first had the idea for opening her own dojo, prodded by her Watcher to find something to focus her energy on if she never became The Slayer, back before Sunnydale, she'd spent months looking into how they operated, and usually failed.

Nodding to herself at the possibilities, Kennedy took out her phone and called a rarely used number.

"Alice, this is Kennedy Sackett. Could I speak with Mr. Bryce, please?"

* * *

Buffy leaned back in the chair. Emma Pillsbury reminded her of an early, shy Willow with an added bonus phobia. "How did you become a guidance counselor?" she asked.

"Well..."

A loud cough interrupted them. Standing in the doorway to Emma's office was Rachel Berry.

"Ms. Pillsbury, I need your help," she said, "Oh, hello, Coach Summers," she added, blushing, as if just noticing Buffy when Emma waved her into her office.

"It's Ms. Summers when I'm here," Buffy said, vaguely gesturing at Emma's office.

"Ms. Summers is doing her Counseling practicum with me this fall," Emma told her, in response to the girl's puzzled look.

"Oh," Rachel said.

"How can we help you?" Emma asked.

"Well..." she gave Buffy a nervous look.

"I don't bite," Buffy said, echoing Emma's tone. "Anything you say here is just between us."

"Within reason," Emma added, nodding.

Rachel took a deep breath before continuing, "Coach Sylvester is up to something. She singled out several of us from Glee this morning. I really don't have time for another extra curricular activity, especially one that has no bearing on my future Broadway career. Principal Figgins said I had to talk to you."

"What kind of activity?" Emma asked, looking at Buffy.

"She wasn't too clear on that," Buffy said, wincing at Emma's raised eyebrow. Strictly speaking, Sue hadn't given her detailed instructions, though she could definitely read between the lines, for training the group without them learning about being potentials. But if Sue thought she knew why the four girls were still potentials, there was a very good chance she had a fix. And if there was a fix they would definitely need some kind of training.

"She wants me to put four Cheerios - Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, and Kurt Hummel," Rachel nodded, "and Rachel through some extra physical training. Together," Buffy told her. "It was apparently a surprise to all of us."

"No offense, Ms. Summers but I don't have time for anything extra," Rachel said. "That hour before school starts is the only time I can use the auditorium without being interrupted."

"You can't do that after school?" Buffy asked. "Or weekends?"

"On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I have dance. Tuesdays and Thursdays I have voice lessons," Rachel said. "On weekends I help out at the Community Center and spend time with my dads if they're home."

"Busy," Buffy murmured. "When do you have time for fun?"

"I'm going to be on Broadway," Rachel told her confidently. "That is what I do for fun."

"Give it a couple weeks," Buffy said. "If you think it's still a waste of your time I'll talk to Coach Sylvester myself."

"That sounds reasonable," Emma said.

Rachel huffed in clear annoyance. "I will take the idea under advisement. Have you decided to join us for dinner tomorrow?"

"Dinner?" Emma asked.

"A little 'Welcome to the neighborhood' social event," Rachel told her. "Coach Summers and her girlfriend moved in next door this summer while I and my dads were in London."

"She's not my girlfriend," Buffy grumbled. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"I have two dads," Rachel said. "Although I don't self identify as gay myself, I do have a well developed gaydar. And, I apologize for being so forward, but you set it off."

"Should you be outing someone without their permission?" Emma asked.

"I didn't think it would be a problem for you Ms. Pillsbury," Rachel said. "You've always set off my gaydar."

"Um, well," Emma blushed. "I think you might want to reconsider this gaydar thing."

"Yes," Buffy added. "While I'm not offended, and Kennedy's real girlfriend has been my best friend since high school, I'm really not."

"If you say so," Rachel said, obviously humoring them. "So, will you be joining us tomorrow?" she asked Buffy.

"I can't speak for Kennedy but I would be happy to join you," Buffy said, to Rachel's obvious delight.

"You won't regret it," Rachel said. "Come over at 7. You can come also," she told Emma."

"I'm sorry Rachel, I have a prior engagement," Emma said. Rachel nodded and turned towards the door.

"Hey Boss!" Kennedy said, appearing in the doorway. "Guess what I just bought!"

"Excuse me," Rachel said, standing in front of her. Winking at her, Kennedy stepped aside and waved her through.

"We should probably get going also," Buffy said. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

* * *

"A building? In Lima? Do I even want to know why?" Buffy asked, unlocking her car. Waiting until they were both inside and buckled in, she continued. "You were right," she said to Kennedy before pulling out of the school parking lot.

"I was? About what?" Kennedy asked.

"Coach is planning to turn cheerleaders into slayers," Buffy said.

"Oh," Kennedy said, gaping at her. "Is that a good thing?"

"In this case? Maybe," Buffy said, frowning. It'd taken her years to accept being a slayer. She wasn't sure she wanted the girls being forced to become slayers, crazy Sue Sylvester scheme or not. "The girls this morning? Unactivated Potentials. Coach thinks something in Lima has turned them off and plans to fix it."

"So, they weren't randomly picked for minion-hood," Kennedy said.

"Nope."

"Well, that explains Rachel Berry," Kennedy said. "I knew there was something special about her."

"Coach doesn't want them knowing they're potentials," Buffy told her. "So no telling, for now. Though Fabray was apparently introduced to our world by her sister, whose law firm represents us in New York, she has no idea about being a potential. Her sister wants to tell her in a few months."

"That's a big coincidence," Kennedy said. "Ran into one this morning taking care of the paperwork for my new building."

"Well, we might have another one," Buffy said, pulling into the parking lot of her current favorite Lima diner and getting out of the car. "I'll buy you lunch and you can tell me about this building you bought and what you plan to do with it."

"Okay," Kennedy said, hopping out of the car.

"And then you can tell me all about a certain family of Brazilian demon hunters," Buffy said, speaking over her shoulder. "Last name Lopez. Matches a certain potential in the group."

"Oh!" Kennedy gulped nervously, before nodding and following her into the diner.


	5. Interlude: Lucy in the Sky

**Disclaimer:** Update: The estate of Louis L'Amour owns all things Sacketts.  
**Interlude Summary:** Lucy Q. knew appearances were deceiving.  
**Author's Note:** 1 interlude for each of Buffy's 5 Gleek minions. Very exposition and inner-thought heavy as we fill in the cracks of their lives while the main story goes on. OOC-ness very possible as I bend and twist them to fit into the overall story/plot. _(These were posted separately over at TtH but it's easier to follow if they are merged back into the main story here.)_  
**Word Count:** 1,445 (1 of 5)

* * *

In high school, Quinn never thought about Lucy. Unless she was forced to. Lucy had been her caterpillar stage. Different hair, slightly different face, clumsy. Her pre swan form. She'd moved on. Except when she hadn't, when she was forced back into the protective mental shell Lucy wore, in self preservation, during the long nomadic months of her pregnancy.

Her sister was always so much better at disguises. At parental misdirection. Quinn had always suspected that perfect, Prom Queen Frannie was just an illusion but, born six years apart, they'd never been close enough for her to find out. Aloof Frannie had seemed so far above Lucy, so distant, in her frat girl glory. For years she never questioned why Frannie stopped coming home for holidays.

Never questioned the brittleness in her father's voice when he talked about her sister. Never wondered why her father, the man who'd taught her to ride a bike, who'd seemed so proud when she was made head Cheerio, who liked to brag about her to his friends, had reacted so violently, so cruelly, when Finn had let it slip about her pregnancy. Never connected his behavior to her sister.

Some of the camouflage was removed when Frannie unexpectedly showed up at the hospital the morning after Beth was born. For the first time in her life, that she could remember, someone was there for her. No personal agenda. Nothing in play. Not trying to impress. Just there for her, Lucy Quinn Fabray.

And Frannie was the only one who stayed, for the two days the hospital gave her to recover from the most terrifying, most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. Not even Mercedes, the only person at school she still considered a friend, the only person willing to give her a place to stay those last few months, was there for her the way she needed. Like Frannie was.

Frannie, who shielded her from their mother trying to overrule her about the adoption, and dragging her back to that cold show piece of a house before she was ready. Shielded her from Puck and his unrealistic plans for her and Beth.

She couldn't imagine the disaster the adoption would have been if Frannie, in all her corporate lawyerly glory hadn't guided her, and Puck, through it. All it had taken, really, was a brief mention of Berry, what little Quinn knew about that fiasco, whispered in Frannie's ear, and Shelby folded, agreeing to Quinn's few conditions.

Quinn agreed, and Puck conceded, to give Shelby time to bond with Beth before becoming a part of their lives. Sitting in that hospital bed, waiting for her doctor to let her go, five years had seemed like a lot of time to wait before she could see more than photos of her little girl. But she knew herself. Quinn knew that it would hurt but she needed that time also. Time to devote to herself, to turn herself into someone who deserved to know her daughter. And time to get used to the idea that Beth wasn't hers. Time to get that possessive Fabray streak under control before it ruined her daughter's future.

Puck had been disappointed but she had given him very little choice. From watching him with his sister, Quinn knew he had the potential to be a good father, but not with her and not for Beth. Lucy might have agreed with him, she was a romantic at heart, but not Quinn. Quinn knew that, to succeed at this, until she finished high school she needed to think of herself first, and not give in to the urge to nest.

Thoughts of Beth were a constant presence in her heart. Every day she had to remind herself it was all for Beth. That she had to stay that cold, unfeeling Quinn everyone thought she was to stop herself from reacting to Coach, Santana, and the other Cheerios when they tore at her, looking for any weakness.

* * *

She was sure she knew Coach's new assistant from somewhere. It must have been during the summer away from Lima, because if the tiny blonde, who make Santana look huge, had been in Lima before the summer Puck would have been all over her, or at least tried to be, she conceded, since the assistant seemed to have a girlfriend.

Listening with one ear as Coach rambled on, Quinn reviewed the events of the summer. As soon as she'd been released from the hospital and handed Beth over to Shelby, Frannie had barely given her a chance to say goodbye to Mercedes before dragging her off to New York. Quinn had been happy to have a place to recover, a summer away from Lima and her guilt ridden mother. Not having to deal with her so called friends, and a clingy Berry was an extra bonus.

She'd also been really curious to meet the mythical husband, only known to her as Mike. In the three years since the surprise wedding announcement, her parents had never shown her any pictures of Frannie and Mike. Quinn always assumed it had been because they'd gotten married without telling anyone. Until she actually met Mike.

Quinn wasn't sure what shocked her more when they were met at LaGuardia by a soft-spoken, serene woman covered in religious tattoos. Finding out her sister was a lesbian, or finding out she lived with an artist, one she met at an art gallery while she was going to Columbia. Some day she planned to ask her mother what had upset her father the most, her sister living with an artist or being a lesbian. Personally, Quinn found the artist amusing, and after spending the summer with her sister and Mike, lesbians were the least frightening thing in her new world.

Quinn didn't find out that Mike had been a nun until almost the end of her stay but by that time it was a drop in the bucket. Her world-view had already been knocked so far off course she didn't think she'd ever recover.

Quinn tuned back into her surroundings just as Coach Sylvester stalked off. She hoped Coach changed her mind about this extra training. Her days were long enough without starting them off with an extra dose of Berry-manic. She didn't hate the girl but something about her set Quinn's teeth on edge.

Kurt? Kurt was okay. They usually just ignored each other except for Glee. Brittany disappeared into what ever cloud she lived on when Santana wasn't around and seemed to ignore anyone else when she was. Santana was another one she'd rather avoid, though that was impossible with them both being Cheerios. Santana hadn't been a real friend since she'd gotten the head cheerleader spot the first time and this year things didn't look any better with Coach pitting them against each other for the top spot.

Quinn thought it was amusing how Summers seemed to be able to shut Berry down with little effort. Quinn wondered if she could teach that to Mr. Schuester. Berry tended to overwhelm him, his only power being control over who would get solos. Even if the fashion refugee was better than anyone she'd ever heard, Quinn really wished that Berry wouldn't keep forgetting that Glee wasn't just a showcase for her talent.

Watching Summers' girlfriend walk away, Quinn started to have an inkling of an idea. She'd first met a few girls who moved like that in New York at the gym her sister used. They'd moved with a hypnotic controlled smoothness, just like the girlfriend. To find out later that they, and others she met at a picnic at the end of the summer, were super powered women who fought real monsters, had been the final reality check she needed to get her act together. Meeting a real witch at that picnic had been almost anticlimactic.

For the next hour, until she let them go, Quinn tried to watch Coach Summers without being too obvious. And every so often, there would be an echo of the same smoothness in her movements. Santana seemed to be overly interested also. Quinn frowned, wondering about that.

She also wondered what was going on to bring two of THEM to Lima, one undercover as an assistant coach. Unfortunately, she couldn't call her sister until tonight and ask her. Her mother had plans for a little mother-daughter bonding session for the rest of the day. But if something was going on in Lima, she really needed to know. She wasn't sure what she could do but if there was a threat to Beth she would do something.


	6. Interlude: Secret Keeper

**Author's Note:** See quick note at end.  
**Interlude Summary:** Santana Lopez wasn't an ordinary cheerleader.  
**Word Count:** 1,434 (2nd Interlude)

* * *

Santana never really lost track of her surroundings. Even when she wasn't consciously looking, she always knew who and what was in a room with her. From the moment she could talk, her aunt had ceaselessly drilled it into her until it was second nature. It was an ability that made her excel at any sport or physical activity.

Sure, when it came to dancing, Brittany would always be better. And that Bible-bitch Quinn had a certain ruthlessness that put her ahead in the race for Head Cheer-bitch. But Santana knew that she was the true superstar Cheerio. She was the one who would ride the Cheerios to a full scholarship at whatever school Brittany settled on, even if she didn't need it, with the college trust fund her Papa had started when she was born, leaving the losers in Lima behind.

After another Sue Sylvester certified, special morning Cheerio practice, Santana had a quick lunch with her aunt while Brittany took her little sister to soccer camp. Over a minuscule bowl her aunt's famous sopas, oh how she hated The Sylvester Cheerio diet, she relayed the news about the sudden appearance of her long lost cousin, apparently the girlfriend of one Buffy Summers, no less. Santana had then followed Brittany to her afternoon dance class. When school started up again the following week, she'd have less time to spend with her favorite blonde, so she planned to make the most of it.

* * *

They weren't alone but they might as well have been. Sure she'd seen her cousin go into Madame Miriam's office. And watched Berry stomp into the studio like a munchkin in a poppy field before storming off to the small locker room. But none of that mattered. Brittany was dancing. And when Brittany danced, Santana felt loved, felt a part of herself vibrate in joy.

Brittany had been Santana's Secret Keeper almost from the moment they met, in 4th grade. There were so many things about her, her family, her life, that only Brittany understood. That Brittany fiercely protected.

But when it came down to it, they really protected each other.

She'd once asked Brittany why she was so different in school. Why only their families saw the real Brittany. The Brittany with the near-photographic memory and taste for convoluted jokes. The Brittany she adored. Even for Brittany, the answer had been really out there. It had taken her years to understand the brilliance of her best friend.

"I am who you need me to be, San," she'd said, placing her hand over Santana's heart. "They see us but not the real us." She ran her other hand through Santana's hair. "They see the illusion of the protector. The knight in shining armor. But they don't see that the knight is really the maiden, protected in her tower. I'll always protect your heart."

They were alone at the time, as they often were those first few years, so Santana wasn't afraid to let herself cry. And to vow to herself that, no matter how things between them went, Brit would always be her first priority, even before family.

Not all of the secrets they shared were big. Only Brit knew her favorite book, favorite day, and what her first tattoo meant. But those were best friend secrets.

The first real secret she'd ever shared with Brittany was about her family. Sure, her father, a doctor at Lima General, was the youngest son of a prominent Brazilian family who worked because he wanted to, not because they needed the money. But her aunt, her father's sister, who'd raised her and her older brother after the death of her mother, the family head, traced her lineage back to Itchakomi Ishaia, a daughter of a great Natchez leader, an actual native American princess.

It had been exciting to consider herself a princess. Even if it was a secret. She could still remember how all the girls in grade school dressed up and pretended to be princesses for Halloween. Competition to be Pocahontas for the school play could be vicious, but she was the real deal. But even if she couldn't tell, not that anyone would have understood the connection, she still knew. But she'd told Brittany and it made all the difference. And it wasn't the only secret they shared.

Only Brittany knew about her obsession with badass cheerleaders. About her collection of memorabilia of real and fictional cheerleaders. And her collection of custom Barbies modeled on them. Knew her secret favorite movie was about a cheerleader.

And she knew that she hadn't been able to hide her excitement, from Brittany, when Coach introduced them to her new assistant. Summers had been pretty badass as cheerleaders go, even before Santana found out the truth. There weren't many cheerleaders who dared to burn down a school building.

Finding out she'd been hunting vampires at the time added that extra bit of admiration. And she'd obviously kept in shape since then. Santana wondered if her family was in the same business. The first Lopez to come to America had been part of a team of Portuguese demon hunters working for the Church. Family legend had it that after he rescued the granddaughter of Itchakomi from a demon in Mexico City they wandered all over the Americas before settling in the colonies that later became Brazil.

When they were fourteen, Santana's brother Miguel took them to meet their first demons. Her disappointment that all of the demons living in Lima were neutral lasted a month, until he took her on a road trip to Detroit for a family hunt to clean out an old factory. She killed her first vampire that weekend. Sure, it was some weak-ass minion one of her cousins had held still while she staked it, but it was an awesome rush hearing that poof of air rushing in as it burst into dust. Something she shared with only Brittany, who was too nice to kill anything but was always ready to help her clean up afterward.

If Berry only knew that Brad, the creepy piano guy who could play any song anyone asked, was a demon. Santana couldn't help smirking whenever she thought about it. Only Brit and herself seemed to know what he was, though she occasionally suspected Coach knew from the look she always gave him when she wandered into the choir room for another go at her favorite game, the Schuester Smackdown.

She heard the door opening but continued to watch Brittany, until she stopped and nodded. Nodding back, Santana reached into her purse and took out the small, brown envelope. Rising gracefully to her feet, Santana turned towards the office. She might not be the awesomeness in movement that was Brittany but a princess such as herself was always smooth, always special, always dignified.

Without saying a word, she silently walked over to the two women who'd come out of the office. Stopping in front of her cousin, she handed over the letter, not bothering to introduce herself. If her cousin didn't know who she was, she would. Soon.

* * *

Santana chatted quietly with Brittany while they waited for the studio to clear. She ignored Berry, like she always did. She didn't hate the girl but found it easier to ignore her. And if Berry wanted to worship at her feet, so be it. This was her first chance to really talk with her heart. Contrary to popular belief, she and Brit did not hang 24/7. They both had families and responsibilities. Often, the dance studio was the only place they could have private conversations or just be together without interruption.

"Things are gonna to get crazy, Brit," Santana told her. "A badass like Buffy Summers isn't in a place like Lima for fun."

"I bet if you ask she'll take you hunting," Brittany told her. "She's been doing this for a long time. She probably knows way more than Miguel."

Santana nodded. Her brother was an awesome demon hunter, but Summers was one of her heroes.

"They're cute together, her and your cousin," Brittany added. "Maybe we can double date."

"You want to date?" she asked, surprised. Their families were always teasing them about their closeness over the years but they'd never formally defined their relationship. There were the boys they teased, made out with, and on rare occasions more. And then there was them. No matter what happened with anyone else.

"If you want?" Brittany said, looking at her nervously. Santana thought it was cute, though she would never admit it to anyone.

* * *

**Note:** I've borrowed Itchakomi Ishaia and all of her descendants from the novel "**Jubal Sackett**" by **Louis L'Amour**. I've heavily modified Santana's family backstory to make them descendants of Itchakomi Ishaia and Jubal Sackett. What happened to them after the end of the novel is unknown. (though Santana's father is a doctor in Glee canon, the rest of her backstory is very, very** AU**. Glee Season 3 doesn't remotely exist in this world.).


	7. Interlude: A Very Berry Extravaganza

**Author's Note:** See end.  
**Summary: **Rachel saw this as practice for when she became famous.  
**Word Count:** 1,721 (3rd of 5 interludes)

* * *

She was nine when they moved to Lima, and the nightmares stopped. But she never completely forgot them. Sometimes, she would wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, remembering the dreams and thinking there was something she needed to do. On the advice of the psychologist her fathers took her to, she'd turned the memories into inspiration, of sorts.

Buried deep in her locked file cabinet, full of ideas and song lyrics, was an opera she'd started writing when she was eleven, inspired by one of her nightmares. About a girl with blonde hair who fought against a god to protect her sister. And her dramatic journey to heaven and tragic return. When she looked at it now, she blushed in embarrassment, thinking that, even for her, the dialogue and lyrics were too overblown. And five years later, she didn't think she'd ever finish it. And why did the sister have to have green hair anyway?

In the same file cabinet, were dozens of songs she'd written, trying to lock up her nightmares. Something she never planned on sharing. She liked to think she had an excellent grasp of lyrics and what made some special and others not, but the music that made the lyrics come alive, even after years of music and vocal training, and the music theory classes her fathers enrolled her in at the local OSU campus, just never came together. Some element, some level of passion was missing.

Rachel thought the missing passion would come if she found a boyfriend. Finn Hudson seemed like the perfect candidate. So she pursued him, risking the wrath of one Quinn Fabray, McKinley's own Ice Princess and Fallen Angel. But, as pleasant as he was, in his selfish, clueless bumbling teen boy way, his presence in her life didn't bring that missing something. But Rachel was stubborn. Maybe if she worked harder? There weren't a whole lot of other workable choices for inspiration, given that the only boys who would give her the time of day were in Glee, and then only if they were actually in Glee at the time.

* * *

The sign had been there for years. So long that it had faded, almost merging into the background. But Rachel liked to pride herself in noticing every little detail about her surroundings, so its disappearance shocked her. But only for a moment until she got her equilibrium back.

Rachel stomped up the stairs, grumbling to herself. She'd tried to get her dads to buy the building, it wasn't like they didn't have the money. Her Daddy had been a partner in a huge corporate law firm before Lima, and he still took big cases for them that had him flying all over.

Her dad could have the old Kung Fu office. He really needed more room than his tiny office near the library if he was going to take over the family architecture firm when her Grandpoppa retired like he'd said he was going to this summer in London. Daddy could take one of the offices on the top floor next to the one she'd earmarked for herself for her fan club when she became famous. But they hadn't gone for it. And now someone else had bought the building.

Quietly entering the studio, trying to ignore the voices coming from Madame M's office, Rachel waved at Brittany, quietly twirling away on the far side of the floor. She nodded at Santana as she stepped past her into the small locker room, receiving a grunt in reply while Santana remained focused on the dancing girl. They weren't really friends but the two Cheerios had been fixtures at Madame M's almost as long as she could remember.

Watching them practice their Capoeira after everyone had gone home was always fascinating. As long as she kept quiet and didn't bother them or ask any questions. She sometimes wished she could join them, but wasn't brave enough to intrude in their bubble. She'd spent time the year before researching it and thought it was the perfect self defense form for a future Broadway star such as herself, but her fathers hadn't agreed. Her Dad had been in the IDF, before college, and had taught her the basics of Krav Maga, but, for some reason only he and Daddy understood, refused to let her take any other more formal types of self defense.

By the time she'd changed, whomever was in Madame M's office was gone. From her expression, and slight distraction during the afternoon lesson, Rachel was concerned, hoping it wasn't about the building being sold.

* * *

After her third encounter with Coach Summers, this time to run the promised laps, after her dance lesson the day before, Rachel wasn't seeing what was so special about her. Or why Santana, who was rarely impressed by most adults, considered her to be a 'badass' but maybe she didn't understand what that meant. She often found herself puzzled by the local teen slang. It sounded nothing like Grease or West Side Story.

But she really didn't have time. She still had to get home and get things ready for the dinner party. Stick either of her dads in a social setting and they ruled. But putting together social events, outside of their beloved jobs, was not their forte. She was just glad they'd let her plan the itinerary for their trip to London over the summer. Who knows what would have happened if she hadn't.

And this really had to go well if she was going to convince Coach Summers to get her out of whatever insane thing Coach Sylvester was planning. She was getting tired of being a pawn in the Sylvester-Schuester tango. Mr. Schuester she couldn't avoid, if she wanted to be in Glee and hone her singing group dynamic skills, but exposing herself to cheerleading, even if it included someone as skilled as Brittany and as charismatic, in an evil genius kind of way, as Santana Lopez, didn't fit anywhere in her life plans. To say nothing about her goal this year to avoid any and all contact with Quinn Fabray, outside of Glee.

Rachel was putting the finishing touches on the dining room, glad she'd prevailed on her fathers to let her take that Martha Stewart seminar on home entertaining in Cincinnati last spring, when the doorbell rang. Glancing up at the mantelpiece clock, she sighed with relief and headed to the front door. Looking through the peephole, she could see David Karofsky loaded down with bags from his family's restaurant. Smiling in delight she enthusiastically opened the door.

"Good evening David, perfect timing as always," she said, ushering him into the house.

"Kitchen?" he asked softly

"Yes, please," she said. She sometimes wondered if he had a spilt personality, "David", the soft spoken cook and delivery boy for one of Lima's best family restaurants, and "Dave", the cruel, abrasive jock and bully. In the hallways of McKinley she always kept an eye out for his large, slushie laden personage but when she ordered food from his father's restaurant, the person who showed up was the epitome of the friendly catering professional.

"Where you able to get the fresh tomatoes and avocados to make the gazpacho that I wanted?" she asked, following him into the kitchen.

"Yes," he said, quickly emptying the bags, "but this'll be the last until next spring, unless you want to use something from out-of-state or out of a can."

Rachel grimaced. One of the things she really liked about Karofsky's was their insistence that locally grown produce was the best, both in taste and appearance. And their willingness to make amazing versions of her favorite vegan dishes on request. "You're the culinary experts," she said. "I wouldn't want to mess with the perfection of your recipes."

He nodded as he started putting the half dozen dishes into the serving dishes she had ready. "You know how to keep these at the correct temperature before serving," he said. "Just remember not to wait too long."

Rachel blushed, remembering a disastrous dinner where she'd ruined a wonderful smelling spinach lasagna because she'd not paid any attention to his instructions. "Yes."

"What's the special occasion?" he asked, as he collected his insulated bags and boxes.

"Welcoming our new neighbors to the neighborhood," she said. He raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief, obviously not having missed the sudden addition of one of their signature frozen deserts to the order that morning.

"Okay," she admitted, knowing as his David persona, unlike Dave, he wouldn't laugh at her. "Turns out one of them is Sue Sylvester's new assistant."

"And you want to make a good impression with your new Sylvester buffer?" he said. "Understood. Here's hoping the new football coach does the same thing for the team."

"New football coach?" Rachel asked, curious, following him to the front door.

"Tanaka had a Sylvester inspired breakdown and joined the Peace Corp," he said.

"Have you met him?" she asked. "Finn hasn't said anything about a new coach."

"Her," he said. "She's making us all try out for our old spots. Haven't seen Hudson around this summer at any of the practices."

"Oh," Rachel said, keeping her surprise to herself. "Thanks for telling me." She was going to have to call Finn as soon as their guests left. They hadn't been really dating, with him working so much at his father's garage, but she liked to think he would have told her if he wasn't going to try out for football this year. And he wasn't arrogant enough, she hoped, to just assume he'd kept his spot with a new coach.

David nodded. "Don't forget to give us a call tomorrow," he said, continuing a tradition begun the first time Rachel's fathers had ordered food from Karofsky's, when they first moved to Lima.

"Assuredly," Rachel said, giving him a smile. "You don't think I would forget to let him know what my guests thought of your wonderful food, do you?"

"Rachel Berry? Never!" he said, winking at her. "Enjoy your dinner."

"From Karofsky's? Always," she said, giving him a small wave as he got into his car, before heading back to the kitchen. Assuming their guests arrived on time, as proper guests did, she had thirty minutes to finish up.

* * *

**End Note:** Re: Karofsky. Not sure how he got into this story at this point, with an AU backstory but I think it works, even if I'm not sure if he'll make any future appearances. **Reminder:** This story ignores most Glee Season 2 & 3 canon - so don't expect an exact duplicate of season 2 and 3 Karofsky.


	8. Planning Stage

**Disclaimer Update:** Panzer Kunst? Not mine. Belongs to whatever Japanese media conglomerate owns _Gunnm_.  
**Chapter Summary:** As the coincidences pile higher and deeper, Kennedy makes plans to open her own martial arts school.  
**Word Count:** 3,471

* * *

Relaxing back against the soft leather couch in the Berry's living room, Buffy decided that dinner had gone much better than she'd expected it to, especially with Kennedy in tow as her plus one. But she wasn't going to complain. The two Mr. Berry's were entertaining and their daughter wasn't afraid to participate in the wide ranging discussions, though, from her strained expression, Buffy suspected she'd been told some subjects were off limits.

The food had been wonderful, even to her rough slayer palette. And they'd seemed to accept that she and Kennedy were just friends.

"Now, business," Leroy, the older of the Berry's said, as they settled down with coffee. "You're purchasing the old Hansen building," he stated, looking at Kennedy. "What are your plans for it?" he asked.

"How'd you hear about that?" Kennedy asked, ignoring Rachel's surprised gasp, though it was clear to Buffy, from the hand her other father placed on her shoulder that she really wanted to say something.

"Miss Miriam is a client of mine," Hiram said. "And Rachel is a student in her dance studio. She called me this afternoon after your visit with her."

Kennedy nodded, apparently not overly surprised that she had called a lawyer for legal advice. She'd told Buffy that the dance studio owner renting one of the spaces in her building seemed to have her things together business wise. "Yes, I've bought it. The paperwork should be completed tomorrow morning."

"You work fast," he said, giving both of them an intent look that Kennedy couldn't decipher.

"Didn't see any reason to wait," Kennedy said.

"Have you talked with an architect yet?" Leroy asked her.

"Next on my list, after the paperwork goes through," she said.

"I'm familiar with the building," Leroy said, nodding at his daughter. "If you want a professional opinion."

"If it isn't a conflict of interest, since Hiram represents Madame Miriam?" Kennedy asked.

"No," Hiram said. "I don't see any conflict at this point."

"When would be a good time?" Kennedy asked.

"Give my office a call in the morning. We can meet tomorrow to discuss details," Leroy said, "but why don't you give me a rough idea of your plans now?"

"We'll need to talk with Madame Miriam about her studio and what she thinks it needs," Kennedy said. "At the very least it should be spruced up a bit as part of the remodel."

"What do you plan to do with the rest of the space?" Leroy asked.

"An apartment and office for myself on the top floor," Kennedy said. "At some point Buffy is going to get tired of having me camped out in her guest room."

"You know you're welcome to stay as long as you need to," Buffy said. "If Dawn shows up she can sleep on the couch. Anyone else planning to stay overnight can find a hotel."

Ignoring Buffy's comment and non-mention of Willow, Kennedy continued, "And a smaller apartment for visitors."

"And the ground floor and basement?"

"A martial arts studio," Kennedy said. "There's already one of those old Kung Fu studios we can use as a starting point. The basement? I haven't actually looked down there but secure storage?"

"What kind of martial arts?" Rachel asked eagerly. "I've been trying to convince my dads that capoeira would be a good addition to my repertoire."

"There isn't anyone in Ohio qualified to teach capoeira," Hiram said firmly.

"Someone I know in Cleveland has started teaching it," Buffy said, "though I don't think that's what Kennedy has in mind."

"Cleveland is too far," Hiram said to Rachel.

"My cousin knows it," Kennedy said, "It's something my mother's side of the family practices, but it isn't something I know myself. I'm not sure if she's qualified to teach it though. You'd have to ask her."

"Your cousin?" Rachel asked, pulling out her phone, appearing ready to get her number.

"Santana Lopez," Kennedy said.

"Oh," Rachel said, visibly deflating and putting away her phone. "She's already said no."

"Which martial art do you plan to teach?" Leroy asked.

"Panzer Kunst," Kennedy said. "It combines judo and several other disciplines in a style designed to allow practitioners, primarily women, to succeed against larger opponents."

Rachel's parents nodded, though Kennedy could tell they'd never heard of it.

"Now that is out of the way, what about this extra activity Sue Sylvester insists that Rachel participate in?" Hiram asked, directing his question to Buffy.

"You're aware of the power struggle between Coach Sylvester and what's his name, the Glee advisor?" Buffy asked.

"Mr. Scheuster," Rachel inserted.

"Yeah, him," Buffy said, nodding in agreement. "Although it might appear that this is part of that, Coach really does have the kid's best interests at heart."

"You've known Sue for a while?" Leroy asked. "Isn't she a bit unconventional?"

"She was my cheer coach at one point, so I'm familiar with her methods," Buffy said. "I expect to insulate them from her more extreme behavior, but her general approach works."

"What benefit would Rachel get from this?" Hiram asked. "She already has a well designed activity regimen that meets her post high school goals."

"I'm going to be on Broadway," Rachel said. "After Julliard, of course."

"You're in Glee? A bunch of people singing and dancing together? Right?" Buffy asked.

"Yes," Rachel muttered.

"That's a kind of teamwork. Well, this is your opportunity to learn another kind, in a reasonably safe environment," Buffy said. "It won't be quite like participating in a team sport but it'll be a good thing for her," Buffy told them. "And, as I told Rachel, she should give it a try for a few weeks as a change of pace from her current physical training. If she really dislikes it she can quit."

"And you'll take care of Coach Sylvester?" Rachel asked.

"If she doesn't, I have a few connections," Kennedy said with a fake Italian accent, causing Buffy to groan and the Berry men to laugh.

* * *

After dropping Buffy off at McKinley for her morning minion training, and promising to pick her up in time for lunch with her aunt, Kennedy headed for her new building, stopping for coffee first. Calling Leroy Berry's office, she sat down on the top step of the building entrance to wait.

"Panzer Kunst? I called a few friends last night," Leroy said, looking up at her from the sidewalk ten minutes later. "It's from some Japanese comic?"

"Yes, Gunnm," Kennedy said. "I've owned the rights to use the name 'Panzer Kunst' for my own style since I was sixteen. But it's a real style. It just isn't well known yet."

He nodded. "Shall we get started?"

Kennedy stood and opened the door. "After you," she said, waving him in.

"Is this a personal project? Or is the Council involved?" he asked her, once they were inside.

"The Council?" Kennedy asked innocently.

"Hiram occasionally handles cases for a law firm in New York that handles Council business," he said. "He recognized your friend's name."

"Ah," Kennedy murmured, wishing Buffy were there to handle this.

"Also, my father's firm built the Council's new London headquarters, and we're bidding on several buildings for the new Cleveland campus," Leroy said.

"So, this isn't just curiosity," Kennedy said, taking a sip of her coffee.

"No," he said. "If it's a Council project I'd like us to get a bid in on the remodel."

"No, it's a personal project," Kennedy said. "Sorry. Felt the need to settle down for a little while. Lima seems like a nice place and since I have family here, it seemed appropriate."

Leroy nodded again. "Well, let's take a look. I'm assuming you had it inspected?"

"Just the basics," she said, handing him a copy of the inspector's report. "I don't really want to do the work myself and I don't have the same level of funds as the Council, but I would be interested in your firm bidding on the remodeling job. Especially if you have experience with Council properties."

"The firm was started in 1850 by a member of the Council Board of Directors," Leroy said. "It's been in the family ever since. We've branched out over the years but we specialize in facilities made or upgraded to Council spec."

"So, a lot of experience," Kennedy said, nodding. "Does Rachel know?"

"No," he said. "She has no interest in such things. Eventually we'll tell her. Let's start with the basement," he added, pointing towards the stairs.

* * *

"Hey!" Buffy said, joining Kennedy and Leroy in the small office next to the old Kung Fu studio. "Nice space."

"Done early?" Kennedy asked, looking up from the floor plan Leroy had sketched out.

"No, you're late, so I walked," Buffy said.

"Sorry," Kennedy said. "We've been busy."

"Not a problem. Picked up a few strays along the way," Buffy said, waving at Rachel and Hiram Berry standing out in the lobby.

"That would be my lunch date," Leroy said, smiling. "You're welcome to join us," he said, gathering up the papers scattered on the desk.

"We have plans," Kennedy said. "My aunt is expecting us for lunch."

"I can hang out with the Berrys while you make nice with your aunt," Buffy said eagerly.

"My aunt insisted on your presence," Kennedy reminded her as she locked the office door behind them. "Not even your lawyer can get you out of that," she said, pointing at Hiram.

"My lawyer?" Buffy asked, puzzled.

"Guess who represents the Council in the non-Cleveland parts of Ohio," Kennedy said.

"Really?" Buffy gave Hiram an intent look.

"Yes," Hiram said. "My old law firm in New York represents the Council on the East Coast. They occasionally send cases my way."

"Let me take a wild guess," Buffy said, shaking her head. "This would be the same law firm that Frannie Fabray is a partner in?" she asked. She wasn't sure what it was about Lima but her coincidence-o-meter was already redlining before this.

"She was just an intern when we moved here," Hiram said. "But yes, she is a partner there now."

"The girls in New York all seem to like her," Buffy said.

Hiram nodded. "She's one of the youngest partners in the firm's history. Very sharp and personable. And her girlfriend Mike is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet."

"Oh yeah, Sister Mike is great," Buffy said. "Quinn's sister must be something special for them to be together."

"Sister Mike?" Rachel asked, giving them a curious look.

"I met her when I was your age," Buffy said. "She was a nun back then."

"What's the Council?" Rachel asked, following them out of the building.

"That, Baby Girl, is a story for another day," Leroy said. "But Miss Summers here worked for them for years, and her friend still does."

"Well, Kennedy is on sabbatical, and I'm semi-retired, but it isn't an organization you ever really leave," Buffy said.

"I'm on sabbatical?" Kennedy said, surprised. At Buffy's subtle nod, she said "Right. On sabbatical."

"Not even a clue?" Rachel asked them, pouting. "Please?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow at the two men, wondering if they were aware of Rachel's status as a Potential. At the way they not so subtly protectively moved closer to her, it was clear they knew something. Yet another Lima mystery, though probably not the last, Buffy thought. "I suspect I need to have a long discussion with your fathers first," Buffy said to her.

The Berry men nodded. "This afternoon while Rachel is in dance?" Hiram asked. "I can clear my schedule."

"Sounds good," Buffy said, pretending not to see Rachel's disappointed look.

* * *

"I feel like I missed something," Buffy said, reluctantly letting Kennedy drive.

"Yes," Kennedy said, concentrating on her driving.

"Well?" Buffy asked as they pulled into a small strip mall on the outskirts of Lima.

"Leroy Berry has Council connections also," Kennedy said.

"Why is it starting to feel like Lima is a secret Council resort?" Buffy asked. "What's his connection to the Council? Besides the Potential daughter and Council lawyer husband?"

"Family architecture firm was founded by a member of the Council Board of Directors back in the 1850's," Kennedy said.

"Didn't we use them for the London rebuild?" Buffy asked.

"And they are bidding on some Cleveland work," Kennedy said.

"Great!" Buffy shook her head. "Rachel doesn't appear to know what the Council is."

"Or does," Kennedy said. "I don't envy you talking with them this afternoon."

"If I have to do the whole 'Your daughter is gonna be a slayer' speech, you are going to be there too," Buffy said, shaking her head. "So where is your aunt?"

"Over there," Kennedy said, pointing at what looked like a storefront fortune teller.

"Really?" Buffy stared at her companion. "For real?"

"There's a strain of the Sight in the family," Kennedy said.

"Which means?" Buffy asked, getting out of her car.

"Tell the truth when she asks questions?" Kennedy said. "And hope she isn't in a prophetic mood?"

"Ah…" Buffy sighed and followed Kennedy.

* * *

"Well, that was interesting," Buffy said, as they returned to the car an hour later. "Good food, but scary aunt."

"Yes," Kennedy said, pouting. Her aunt had read her the riot act, in a combination of Portuguese and the family's private language, for not staying in contact with her mother's side of the family after Sunnydale.

"I can see where you get it," Buffy said. "She would have had Quentin Travers quaking in his boots."

"You impressed her," Kennedy admitted. She found Buffy's blush at the praise amusing.

"So we now have permission to let her niece know she's a potential," Buffy said. "Who does that leave out of our happy little Sue Sylvester hit squad?"

Kennedy shrugged.

"You're no help," Buffy said, poking her. "Right. We have Quinn Fabray. She knows about slayers but doesn't know she's a potential yet. According to your aunt, Santana and her girl know about demons but not about slayers. Rachel Berry doesn't know anything but her fathers apparently know something. And then there's the boy, Kurt. We'll have to assume he doesn't know anything but since he's not a potential that isn't a big deal yet."

"Sounds like fun," Kennedy said sarcastically, prodding the radio in an attempt to find a decent radio station. "You're going to need a map to keep them straight."

"You know I'm going to want to use your dojo, right?" Buffy said.

"Who's going to pay?" Kennedy asked.

"Pay?"

"It is a business," Kennedy said. "If I'm going to teach them Panzer Kunst, someone needs to pay."

"Don't you have a promotional budget?" Buffy asked. "It can come out of that. Students will be lining up down the street once they find out you've got those four girls in one of your classes."

"Not yet," Kennedy said. "It'll be at least a month before it's usable. You'll have to find somewhere else until it's done. Pool house?"

"Pool house," Buffy agreed, reluctantly. "How much do you want to charge us?" she asked.

"Us?" Kennedy frowned.

"Council project, not that they'll know that. We'll get Giles to give them scholarships."

"That has possibilities," Kennedy said, grinning.

"Within reason," Buffy said, frowning at her. "Think of a good number, that covers expenses and your time, and I'll squeeze it out of him at the next Board meeting."

"Gotcha, boss," Kennedy said, grinning. Creative bookkeeping to fool Council accountants had been one of the things her first Watcher taught her.

* * *

"You both know about the Council and what it does," Buffy said, after they'd settled down with coffee in Hiram Berry's office. "How much do you really know about slayers?"

"Too much," Leroy said, grimacing. "We know that after you destroyed Sunnydale that it isn't just one slayer at a time. That they have a better, longer life. Quentin Travers must be spinning in his grave," he said with fierce satisfaction.

"Not a fan?" Buffy asked, curious.

"My father refused to work with him after Kendra Young died," Leroy said.

"Kendra? You knew her?" Buffy asked.

"Sam Zabuto was married to one of my aunts," Leroy said. "I only know what she told me but my father was fond of her and blamed Travers' slayer training program for her death."

"And Rachel? You know she's a potential slayer?" Buffy asked. Hiram remained silent but grabbed one of Leroy's hands.

"There was a prophecy, I don't remember the exact wording," Leroy said. "But my father suspected it referred to her."

"Of course there was," Buffy said, shaking her head in resignation. "And?"

"My father resigned from the Board when Travers was elected Head of the Council after Kendra's death. When Rachel was born he remembered the prophecy and asked a friend to perform the ritual to detect newborn potential slayers," Leroy said. "It said she was going to be the slayer but he didn't tell us until the old Council was destroyed. He'd been able to keep her name off the potential rolls but he wasn't sure what affect your changes would have on her."

"When he told us, we panicked," Hiram said. "So we ran."

"Why here?" Kennedy asked.

"We were living in New York," Leroy said, "when my father heard through the grapevine that there was a town where potentials never became slayers."

"Lima, of course," Buffy said. "Any more coincidences and my head is going to explode. But let's get back to Rachel."

"Can you promise she won't die young?" Hiram asked. "She has plans, and she's really talented. Is becoming a slayer going to affect them?"

"Hiram is the 'stage mother' in the family," Leroy said, looking at his husband fondly. "She gets her stubbornness and drive from him."

"We can't make any promises," Buffy said. "But we can make sure her and the other girls are prepared when it does happen."

"She's not the only one," Leroy said, nodding. "So it really is true. About the Lima immunity?"

"Yes," Buffy said. "If I could spare them, I would. But we don't know why and we don't know how long this immunity will last. How well do either of you know Sue Sylvester? "

"I met her years ago, at a party," Leroy said. "But I didn't know she was still working for the Council."

"She was old Council," Buffy said. "She moved to Lima years ago to study this no-slayer zone. She thinks she has it solved."

"She seems like a loose canon from what Rachel's told us," Hiram said.

"Well, she's been on her own since the old Council was destroyed, but we're reeling her in," Buffy said optimistically.

"What can we do to help?" Hiram asked. "We want her to fulfill her dreams."

"Right now? Support her. Don't let her forget her dreams, but let us train her," Buffy said. "The morning sessions with the others should help, and Kennedy's Panzer Kunst training, once that starts, will be important. And she needs to know about the dangers out there. Keeping her in the dark for much longer is too dangerous. There have been too many coincidences since I moved here. It might not happen this year, or next, but Lima is looking like ground zero for something big."

"How do we tell her?" Hiram asked.

"Team effort," Buffy said, waving her hand to indicate all four of them. "I have some of the material we usually use to convince parents, and we can do some show-n-tell tonight."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to be the 'show' part of this?" Kennedy asked with a grimace.

Buffy gave her her best 'innocent' look, though she could tell Kennedy wasn't buying it.

Kennedy groaned and looked down at her watch. "Hey Boss? We have to meet my cousin at the park in a few minutes."

"Okay," Buffy said, standing up. "Are you going to be okay with this?" she asked the silent Berry men.

"Not really," Hiram said, speaking for both of them. "But we will do everything in our power to help her."

"Good!" Buffy said, impulsively giving them both hugs before leading Kennedy outside.

* * *

"They took it better than I expected," Kennedy said, waiting for Buffy to unlock the car.

"They aren't happy but Leroy's old Council and Hiram knows the score," Buffy reminded her. "The rest is up to us."

"What are you going to do about my cousin's girl, and that Kurt kid?" Kennedy asked.

"No idea," Buffy said, adjusting her seat.

"Ah, the traditional Scooby 'Let's Wing It!' plan," Kennedy said, nodding sagely, trying not to laugh at Buffy's reaction. "Those always go well."

"You can always walk," Buffy said.

Kennedy held up her hands in surrender, "Yes, Boss!" she said, bursting into laughter, unable to contain it any longer.


	9. Interlude: The Dragon Hunter's Daughter

**Ficlet Summary:** Dancing wasn't the only thing Brittany was good at.  
**Author's Note:** Reminder - AU after Glee Season 1, some Season 2 backstory, but not remotely Glee Season 3 compliant.

* * *

**Word Count:** 1,425 (Interlude 4 of 5)

* * *

Brittany could recite her family history, from beginning to end, before she was ten. It was a long history, from the moment an Irish princess was carried off by a Viking raider, to when her parents immigrated in the early 90's, eventually ending up in Lima, Ohio. And every Yule, visiting family snuggled down in front of a large bonfire in the back yard, she would recite one of her favorite tales, the story of the dragon hunter's daughter and how she met her princess.

There weren't any dragons left, as far as anyone knew. A distant cousin had reported seeing one, over five hundred years ago, while hunting in the Alps. But whenever she told the story of Brigid, the dragon hunter's daughter, and Magda, her princess, she immediately thought of Santana. Of the gentle girl under the tough shell that no one else saw. Her own brave, indomitable princess.

If she thought about it, in those rare moments when she couldn't dance, when she had no choice but to be still, her connection with Santana was much more than love, though even with her photographic memory and centuries worth of oral family history floating around in her head, she wasn't quite sure what words really did describe them. It had only been recently that had she even dared to use the word 'girlfriend' to give some officialness to their relationship.

Only Santana, and her aunt, knew what Brittany dreamed of every night. Dreamed of strange creatures and battles to the death. But even they didn't know she dreamed of being short, though not Rachel Berry short, and being rescued by a tall blonde who moved with a dance-like smoothness. Dreamed of adventures with this blonde.

Sometimes she found it difficult to separate her dreams from her family history, and reality, but she didn't really mind because, when in doubt, she danced. Danced in her dreams. Danced for her princess. Danced victory dances when Santana came safely back from hunts with her brother. Sexy dances when she burned with the need to feel skin against skin, needed to swim in the unique scent of her princess, best friend, and heart. Danced for love.

* * *

She couldn't remember the first time she saw a live duck. It might have been when her grade school class took a trip to the zoo and Santana gave her a handful of crumbs to feed them. But something about ducks had fascinated her as long as she could remember. Ducks of all shapes and sizes. Wild mallards and large white ducks on farms. Real ducks and ducks in movies. Donald, Daffy, and Darkwing.

Most people found her fascination with ducks strange, but Santana just smiled and handed her more bread to feed them on their weekly visits to the pond in her favorite park. At least half of her stuffed ducks, duck pictures, duck decorated t-shirts, and ceramic ducks were gifts from her princess.

"Hey San," she asked, pulling her pacing friend down onto the park bench. She was scaring away the ducks. "What are you thinking?"

"Something is gonna happen," she said. "Something is coming to Lima."

"I know," Brittany said. "But we won't be alone."

"You're having the dreams again?" Santana asked, grabbing her hands and looking deep into her eyes. "What are you seeing?"

"I always have dreams," Brittany reminded her. "We have time. Lots of time to get ready. It won't be like that time with Brigid and the raiders. We'll have help."

"I know," Santana said, jumping up again, and waving excitedly. "My cousin, and Summers. Evil watch out!"

"We'll need more," Brittany said, laughing at her girl's behavior.

"Who?" Santana asked, puzzled.

"You'll see," Brittany said.

"Tell me," Santana said, pouting.

"It's a surprise," Brittany said, not giving in. San could be impulsive but that could ruin things, she'd decided when she'd first had the dream.

"You know I hate surprises, babe," Santana said, plopping back down onto the bench.

* * *

"Cute couple," Santana said, waving at Coach Summers and her cousin walking towards them along the park path.

Brittany tilted her head and stared intently at them. "Not yet," she said, stating what was obvious to her. She didn't have some super relationship sensing powers, like Kurt and Mercedes seemed to think, but after years of dance and Santana she liked to think she could read people. There was a definite connection between Coach Summers and Santana's cousin, that she could see, but that closeness that she had with Santana? That they didn't have. But she agreed, they would definitely be cute together.

"No?" Santana said. "Hmm…"

Brittany giggled at the devious expression on Santana's face. She loved it when San gave into her naughty impulses. Much better than when she spent days at a low, angry simmer because of something Quinn or Sue Sylvester said.

"Brittany, Santana," Coach Summers said, stopping in front of them.

"Hey Cuz," Santana's cousin said. Brittany dug through her memories for her name but found nothing. She frowned, she must have been somewhere else in her head and missed it, she decided.

"Coach Summers, Kennedy," Santana said. Relieved, Brittany carefully filed away her name.

"Your aunt is an interesting person," Coach Summers said to Santana. "Very much in control. Could have used someone like her when I was your age."

"I told you, Buff, it runs in the family," Kennedy said, smirking.

"You must have missed it," Coach Summers said, dodging a shove from her companion with a laugh.

"Are you sure?" Santana asked Brittany in a low voice.

"Yup," Brittany said. "Coach?" she asked.

"Britt!" Santana hissed, trying to stop her.

"Yes, Brittany?" she said.

You live together? Right?" Brittany asked. Coach nodded. "But you aren't girlfriends, like San and me," she stated.

"No," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Sorry."

"No worries," Santana said, smirking. "No points lost."

"Points?"

"It's a family thing," Kennedy said, smugly.

"Coach?" Brittany asked again.

"Yes, Brittany?"

"San would really like to go hunting with you," Brittany said, kissing Santana's cheek in apology for embarrassing her. "She's a huge fan."

"You can't escape it, Buffy," Kennedy said. "Fame, fortune, and groupies. Why can't I have cute groupies?" she grumbled, winking at Brittany in response to Santana's scowl.

"If her aunt okays it," Coach Summers said. "I think we can arrange something."

"Goodie!" Brittany said, jumping to her feet and hugging her. "And you can take Quinn," she said.

"Juno the Bible Thumper? She'd probably go cry in a corner if she saw real evil," Santana said dismissively.

"San!" Brittany said. "You promised!"

"Sorry," Santana said. "But you know what I mean."

"That wouldn't be a good idea, Brittany," Coach Summers said, shaking her head. "She knows the score, but she's still just a cheerleader. No training. She could get hurt."

"You were just a cheerleader when you burned down that gym full of vampires," Santana said, ignoring her cousin's laughter. "Not that I want to go on a hunt with the Stepford Cheerio."

"I had an advantage that none of you girls have," Summers told them, poking Kennedy, who was still laughing.

"I'm not Tubbers," Santana said. "I can handle myself."

"She means her super powers, San," Brittany said. "Like Brigid."

"That's just a story, Britt," Santana said. "Brigid didn't really have super powers."

"Yes she did," Brittany said, protesting.

"Brigid?" Kennedy asked.

"One of Brittany's ancestors hunted things," Santana said.

"Things?" Coach Summers said.

"She was a dragon hunter," Brittany said. "Like her father."

"Real dragons? According to an old friend, they've been extinct for a thousand years," Summers said. "When was this?"

Brittany shrugged. "A really long time ago," she said. "Do you want to hear about her?"

"I'd love to," Coach Summers said, "but we should probably take this indoors."

Kennedy nodded in agreement. "There's that coffee shop downtown," she said. "Down by my building."

"You bought the old Hansen building?" Santana asked, smirking. "Berry must have freaked. She's been trying to get her pop to buy it for years."

"You aren't closing the dance studio? Are you?" Brittany asked anxiously. Rachel could be silly about some things, but she needed the dance studio too. They rarely talked to each other, either there or in school, but Madame Miriam's was a place they could just be.

"No," Kennedy told her. "Madame Miriam agreed to my terms. She can stay."

"Yeah!" Brittany said, jumping up and down excitedly. "Coffee, and then we can go congratulate her!" Brittany said, grabbing Santana's hand and dragging her towards the parking lot.

* * *

**Quick End Note:** For those wondering about Brittany's cat, Lord Tubbington - Since he doesn't show up in canon until near the end of Season 2, his existence in this AU is currently undetermined. He might show up. He might not.

**Next:** Kurt


	10. Interlude: Yellow Brick Road

**Author's Notes:** Portions of this written will under the influence of a "Bubblegum Crisis Tokyo 2040" marathon. I'm not a huge Kurt (Seasons 1-3. I'm pretending Season 4 doesn't exist at the moment.) fan but hopefully he's not too unsympathetic in this little ficlet.  
**Ficlet Summary:** Kurt's life takes a path he never expected.  
**Word Count:** 1,540

* * *

Kurt knew he was different when he was ten, and during a class trip to see The Wizard of Oz, he wanted Dorothy's ruby slippers. Other boys in his class fought over who would be the Lion, or the Tin Man, or in Puck's case one of the Flying Monkeys. But the shoes were what caught his eye as he watched the action on the large screen. And the glorious dress Glinda wore, not Dorothy and her plain gingham dress. Much later he would cringe at being such a cliche, but back then he just knew what he liked.

From that revelation at ten, he'd eventually accepted being different, even if it took him a little longer to realize what the difference was. What set him apart from his classmates. And what other people would label him for being visibly different, though they didn't realize the truth of their cruelty as they threw him in the dumpster.

He hadn't been publicly out for long, but he'd never tried to hide who he was, which was why Mercedes' crush the year before had been such a surprise.

Kurt, in his more introspective non-diva moments, knew that he could be petty. Jealous even. Life wasn't simple and things still weren't easy for him, even after coming out to his father. There were moments he wasn't especially proud of, though he didn't beat himself up about them. Moments when he did something that might be seen as cruel by someone not in his shoes.

Rachel Berry was the occasional target of opportunity of those jealous moments. He didn't hate her but she wasn't a friend and, before Glee became such an important part of his life, only occasionally the competition. If not for Glee she would have just been one of those high school fashion eyesores he laughed at with Mercedes. But all's fair in love and war, and getting solos in Glee? That was war. Vying for Finn's attention? A skirmish in another undeclared war.

A war he tried his damnedest to win, against Rachel Berry, the girl with all the advantages. Parents who were always there for her, supporting her. If she were gay, he knew, just knew, that she would have their support. He loved his father, and desperately missed his mother, but why did that loud, obnoxious, pushy fashion disaster get the gay dads, he often wondered. So he didn't feel too bad for spreading rumors about her.

But Berry wasn't the only opponent who drew his ire, though she was the only one he actively engaged. Berry might have the potential gay support system but Santana and Brittany were the real thing. He wasn't sure who they thought they were fooling. They didn't need to pretend to date boys. Lesbians like them had it a whole lot easier in school. Teenage boys, himself excepted of course, were shallow. Boys like Puck thought lesbian cheerleaders like those two were hot, though the attraction escaped him. Everyone pretended they were just girls being girls being friends.

If he was honest, and wasn't he always? He would admit to some small amount of jealousy. Santana and Brittany were untouchable. Even Quinn Fabray, a closet case if he ever saw one, so deep Bette Middler, Lady Gaga, and Ellen combined couldn't drag her out, left them alone, unlike her favorite Berry shaped UST target. Not that he would ever say anything to any of them himself, priding himself on his well developed sense of self preservation.

He did wonder what the new assistant Cheerios coach, and her girlfriend, would do to the twisted social dynamic. Anything that took a little of the pressure off of him to represent the model gay teen was a good thing, in his opinion. Let the slushie bearers find other targets.

* * *

He found it one day, not long after his revelation, just after his eleventh birthday, playing in his grandfather's attic while his father and Grandpop, as he called him, watched OSU make mincemeat of another, less worthy team. He wasn't quite sure why anyone would watch football until his Finn-crush years later. A lot of large, ugly, alien looking creatures crashing into each other for a strangely shaped ball didn't interest him. And the cheerleaders? Dozens of girls and boys looking like they jumped out of the same Ken and Barbie molds.

Buried in a dust covered box was a small collection of slim, leather bound journals and a large heavy book. Leafing through the first one, he noticed it looked like someone's diary, written in a light, delicate hand. Quickly looking through the others he decided they were all written by the same person. The large book, on the other hand, was filled with scary looking monsters, written in a language he couldn't read.

Every weekend, for the next year, Kurt read the journals, following the life of a girl as she trained to be something called a slayer. Trained to fight the monsters in the book he couldn't read. It gradually occurred to him over the months, as he worked his way through the journals, that it was really a love story. Between the girl and the person training her. A story that abruptly ended.

Kurt waited until he'd read all of the journals to ask Grandpop about them, afraid he would take them away, hoping the story continued. He really wanted to know what happened to her.

"It was something your great-grandmother wrote," Grandpop told him, putting the journals away in his closet. "I'd forgotten all about them when she died," he said.

"So the monsters she wrote about weren't real?" Kurt asked, not mentioning the book of monsters he had hidden under his bed.

"No, just a story," he said, gently directing Kurt out of the room. They never talked about his great-grandmother again.

* * *

Kurt found the coffee house one afternoon his first month of high school, staking out a booth in the back for himself. Sometimes Mercedes joined him but he mostly spent time there alone, recharging his batteries from the stress of school and ignoring Brittany and Santana who seemed to have their own reserved booth in the same corner. He didn't discover until several months later that Brittany's parents owned the coffee house.

He'd just settled down with an espresso, something he was trying to develop a taste for, when he caught sight of Santana and Brittany walking in, followed by Coach Summers and her butch girlfriend. The acoustics in the corner weren't the best, but holding his copy of Vogue up in front of his face he hoped they wouldn't notice his presence, while he attempted to eavesdrop.

He couldn't help himself though when he heard Coach Summers softly ask Santana and Brittany something about slayers, remembering the word from his great-grandmother's journals. Putting away his magazine in his bag, he picked up his espresso and walked over to their booth.

"Ladies," he said, stopping at their booth, "what brings you here on such a lovely day?"

"What's it to you, Hummel," Santana said, glaring at him.

"I find this gathering of the Lima Lesbian Mafia interesting," he said, sliding into an unoccupied part of the booth. "What dastardly deeds are you contemplating? And why are you involving our coach and her girlfriend?"

"Why does everyone think I'm gay!" Coach Summers asked, turning to her girlfriend.

"It's that whole, fashionable femme look you have," her girlfriend said.

"You didn't think so when we met, did you?" she asked.

She shrugged. "I was too busy gawking at that middle class suburban hellhole you lived in. And the redhead."

"Can't forget the redhead," Coach Summers said pointedly to her girlfriend. Kurt took careful note of the girlfriend's expression. He could sense a story there, and not just typical lesbian drama.

"Hi Coach Summers, Santana, Brittany, Kurt, other person," a voice he could have done without hearing said, breaking into his thoughts. Speak of the devil, or in this case the Ice Queen, herself, Kurt thought with a grimace, looking over his shoulder at an unexpectedly nervous Quinn Fabray.

"Quinn," coach said, giving her a faint smile, though Kurt wasn't sure what there was to smile about. "Care to join us?"

"Yes, Quinn! I was just going to tell them about Brigid and how she got her super powers and started dragon hunting," Brittany said, her voice radiating a painful cheerfulness in Kurt's ears. He raised an eyebrow, in a practiced way, modeled after Quinn's devastating weapon, though he would never tell her, at Satan's groan. "You can sit right next to me!" Brittany said, making room for her.

"Now all we need is Berry and the whole gang is here," Kurt snarked, as Quinn sat down next to him.

Santana groaned, slumping back. "Why did you have to mention her?"

"San says she's just like Voldemort," Brittany said, giggling. "Say her name and she appears."

Feeling safe in the presence of Coach Summers, Kurt was just about to say something about Santana's hidden Harry Potter geekiness when he was stopped by a familiar voice.

"Hi guys! What's up?" Rachel Berry asked, appearing at their booth, cup of steaming coffee in hand.

"See?" Brittany said, clapping her hands excitedly.


	11. As Told By Brittany : I

**Summary:** Brittany tells stories about a distant ancestress, Brigid the Dragon Hunter.  
**Author's Note [1]:** The original character Brigid is the result of my unpublished (anywhere) NaNoWriMo 2011 story. Brittany is going to be telling her story in the context of this crossover so it won't quite match the original. Or be as long. But I hope you find it interesting in the context of the rest of this story.  
**Author's Note [2]:** This and the next chapter about Brigid immediately follows the previous Kurt-centric chapter. There will be other chapters where Brittany tells other tales about Brigid, which will occur over the course of the rest of the story at appropriate times when Brittany feels it necessary.  
**Word Count:** 1,846

* * *

Frowning, Brittany looked around the table at her audience. She had the feeling that there was one person missing.

"Who's missing?" she mumbled to herself, quickly looking around the coffee shop for any strays.

"What?" Santana asked her. "I don't think we have room for anyone else, Brit." She waved at the people in their crowded corner booth.

"In my dreams there's one more," Brittany said, nodding to herself.

"Dreams?" Ms. Summers asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Brit has dreams," Santana said defensively. "True ones."

"I used to have dreams, scary ones, before I moved to Lima," Rachel blurted out, from next to Quinn. "Girls fighting yellow eyed monsters with sticks. I wrote an opera based on one of them once."

"Great," Quinn muttered, slumping tiredly back in her seat. "Who hasn't had dreams like that?" she asked bluntly. The only person to raise a hand was Kurt.

"Not me," he said primly. "Should I have?"

"No, you should be dream free," Ms. Summers told him, firmly. "But before we compare our mutual nightmares and discuss why we have them, I'd like to hear about Brittany's dream."

"It wasn't an exciting one," Brittany admitted. "Not like the vampire ones. I'd rather tell my story about Brigid."

"Brigid?" Rachel asked. Brittany wondered what Quinn then whispered in Rachel's ear to distract her. She didn't think they were friends. She was going to have to get Rachel alone and ask. Quinn was very tight lipped about her feelings about Rachel, considering how much she liked to bully her at school.

"Vampires?" Kurt said, gaping at her. Brittany winked at him. She couldn't help it, he looked adorable, in a boy kind of way, when he was confused.

"Human looking creatures with yellow eyes, ridged foreheads, and sharp teeth who drink blood, and not in a cuddly kind of way," Ms. Summer's friend Kennedy said in a bored voice, obviously repeating something she'd said many times before.

"Don't forget the out of style clothes," Ms. Summers added, causing her friend to groan.

"Only you, Boss," she said.

"So, vampires dress like our Miss Berry here?" Kurt asked with a laugh.

Brittany poked Santana, subtly pointing at Quinn squeezing Rachel's nearest shoulder, Rachel's surprise at the contact probably the only thing keeping her from responding with more than a glare. Santana snorted in amusement, whispering in Brittany's ear, "True love," she said, causing Brittany to giggle.

Ms. Summers tilted her head and looked at Rachel. "No. I don't think I've ever seen a vampire wear that particular combination of styles," she said. "Vampires aren't much for keeping with current fashions."

"I'm very fashionable," Rachel protested, shaking loose Quinn's hand.

"Berry, you aren't going to win that one," Santana said. "Even Juno there has better style than you."

"I never!" Rachel said, pouting.

"That explains so much," Quinn said, snidely.

"Ladies," Ms. Summers said, in a firm voice, stopping Rachel's reply in its tracks. "Save it for later. I want to hear about Brittany's dream and then she promised us a story. Go ahead," she said, nodding at Brittany.

"I've had it a couple times," Brittany said, shrugging. "We're all sitting around a huge bonfire in the desert telling stories. There's the Watcher-man." She pointed at Kurt. "The Mother," she then said, pointing at Quinn.

"Pregnant again?" Santana asked, laughing at Quinn's expression.

"No, she's holding a little girl, Beth I think," Brittany said. Ignoring Quinn's surprised gasp she continued. "The Singer keeps bursting into song," she said, pointing at Rachel. "She's kind of noisy, even in my dreams," Brittany added. This time it was Kurt who laughed, not quelled in the least by Rachel's glare. "The Indian Princess is doing her thing, like always," Brittany said, giving Santana a hug.

"Indian Princess?" Quinn said in clear disbelief, causing Santana to glare at her.

"Sounds about right," Kennedy said, though she didn't explain. "Who else was in your dream?"

"The Queen," Brittany said, pointing at Ms. Summers, causing Kennedy to burst into laughter, "and her champion," Brittany said, pointing at Kennedy and winking at the now blushing woman.

"What does that mean?" Ms. Summers asked.

Brittany shrugged. "It was just a dream," she said.

"What about you?" Santana asked Brittany softly.

"I'm the Storyteller, silly," Brittany said, smirking and giving her girlfriend a soft kiss.

"Brittany, you said someone was missing," Ms. Summers said. "That's all of us."

"No," Brittany said. "The Witch isn't here."

"What color hair does the witch have," Kennedy asked, going pale.

"Red, of course," Brittany said, smiling.

"Of course," Ms. Summers said, sighing and looking at Kennedy. "Have you had other dreams with all of us?"

"Yes," Brittany said. "Lots. There was that one time we were all visiting the elves out by Miller's Pond. And fighting those weird dragon things. But mostly like the first one - around a bonfire or at a party."

"Hmm…" Ms. Summers said. "I'd like to talk with you about your dreams, all of you, later," she said.

"Why," Quinn asked, her tone causing a shiver to run down Brittany's back. She hadn't heard that Quinn voice, the one she usually used to put Rachel in her place, in months.

"School councilor," Ms. Summers said, pointing at herself. "Teens with disturbing dreams," she said waving at them.

"Right!" Quinn said in disbelief. "I asked my sister about you last night," she said.

"And?" Ms Summers prompted.

"Before I tell you anything, I want to know what you're doing in Lima," Quinn said.

"We will have that discussion," she said. "But not today. Or here."

"Now," Quinn insisted.

"Q!" Santana said, leaning towards her, "give it a rest. It's none of your business."

"If she told you, she can tell me," Quinn growled.

Brittany sighed, looking across the table at Rachel and Kurt staring wide eyed at the confrontation. "I'm going to get another," she said, interrupting them and holding up her empty cup. "Anyone else want one? Come on San."

* * *

"You promised to go easy on her," Brittany said, as they waited for the barista, her cousin Ingrid, to make their drinks.

"But she's so easy, Brit," Santana said grumpily.

"We need her, she's part of the team," Brittany said. "She's one of us."

"Just because Summers said she knows the score about demons doesn't make her one of us," Santana protested.

"She will be," Brittany said quietly, knowing Santana would understand what she meant.

"Really?" Santana glanced back at the booth. "Her?"

"Yup," Brittany said. "And Rachel too," she added.

"Both of them?" Santana choked on her latte. "How?"

"Dream," Brittany said.

"Okay," Santana said, accepting her answer. "But what about you? Why those two and not you?" she asked in an unhappy whisper.

"Me too," Brittany said sadly, kissing her on her left cheek.

"Does Summers know you know?" Santana asked.

"Don't know," Brittany admitted. "But I don't think they know yet," she said smirking, knowing how much Santana liked to know things before Quinn.

"Good," Santana said, grinning. "Who's that for?" she asked, when Ingrid handed Brittany a second drink.

"For her," Brittany said, pointing at a petite redhead walking into the the coffee shop. Gesturing at Santana to follow her, she stepped in from of the woman. "This is for you," Brittany said, holding out a cup.

"Thank you, I think," the startled woman said.

"No worries," Brittany said, not reacting to Santana uncharacteristically wrapping an arm around her waist. The woman gave off a very faint buzz that was probably making her girlfriend feel protective, she decided. "Mint tea."

"Brit?" Santana whispered into her ear.

"The 'hot chicks with superpowers' are over there," Brittany said to the woman, still holding out the cup and pointing at their booth with her other cup filled hand. "We've been waiting for you."

"You have?" the woman said, cautiously taking the cup after a quick glance over at the booth. "You are?" she asked, gazing intently at them.

"Brittany Pierce," Brittany said, squeezing Santana's arm.

"Santana Lopez," Santana murmured in response.

"Of course you are," the woman said, shaking her head. "After you, ladies," she said.

Giving her a smile, Brittany turned and headed to the booth, pulling Santana with her.

* * *

"Willow?" Buffy looked up, startled, when her best friend appeared at their booth behind Brittany and Santana. "What are you doing here?"

"Had a meeting in Lima this afternoon," Willow said, her eyes widening visibly at the occupants of the booth. "Thought I'd see how you were doing before I headed back."

"Sue Sylvester?" Buffy asked, wincing.

"Yup," Willow said, nodding.

"Ribbit," Kennedy said, smirking.

"Did not!" Willow said, defensively. "We had a very productive meeting and came to a mutual agreement about her goals and ours."

"Darn," Buffy said, winking at her. "Care to join us?" she asked. "Brittany was about to tell us about one of her ancestors, Brigid. She hunted dragons."

"Introductions first?" Willow said, sitting down between Buffy and Rachel. "I know who you all are, of course, but names to go with faces would be nice."

"I supposed we can do that," Buffy said. Going around the booth she reeled off their names - "Rachel Berry, Quinn Fabray, Kurt Hummel, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, and you know Kennedy, your girlfriend."

"We broke up," Kennedy mumbled, looking down at the table.

"What?" Buffy looked back and forth between them, not sure she'd heard correctly. She'd thought they were just fighting, something they did on a regular basis.

"No we haven't," Willow protested, nervously sipping her tea.

"Which is it?" Buffy asked in a low voice, aware of their audience.

"Coach?" Santana said, raising her voice, "can you work out your girlfriend problems later? Please? Brit has dance in a couple hours. If you wants to hear about how Brigid got her powers, she needs to start now."

"Right, later," Buffy said, thankful for Santana's timely interruption. "Sorry Brittany, go ahead."

"Now that we're all here," Brittany started, looking them all in the eye to get them focused on her story, and not on Ms. Summers and her women and their problems, "this is the story of how Brigid the dragon hunter's daughter met her first elf and got her powers."

"Elves? Like Lord of the Ring elves?" Rachel asked.

"No, you hobbit reject," Santana said, "Keebler elves like you! Now hush and let Brit do her thing."

"Yes Santana," Rachel said. "Sorry Brittany."

"Berry! Zip it!" Santana said. "Or else."

"Santana!"

"Sorry Brit, go ahead," Santana said sheepishly.

"As I was saying," Brittany said firmly. "The story of Brigid, and the elf, and how she got her slayer-like powers…"

"What's a slayer?" Buffy heard Rachel whisper to Quinn.

"I can't tell you right now!" Quinn muttered, "Now hush, I want to hear this."

"Sorry," Rachel whispered back, visibly wilting under Santana's glare.

Brittany sighed, shaking her head. They were worse than her younger cousins. She was just going to have to ignore them or she would never get started.

"There once was a girl, named Brigid, whose father was a famous dragon hunter," she began.

* * *

**Important Note:** This story is actually the merger of several stories I've posted elsewhere ( ff . net doesn't really have a way for authors to post story series in a coherent fashion). As such, the different merged chapters are of assorted lengths. And will remain so.


End file.
